Ultraviolence: The 78th Hunger Games
by the consulting marauder
Summary: The districts have survived 77 Hunger Games so far, but none of them are prepared for the divine horrors that they will face this year. The lights are blinding, the weapons are sharpened, and the Capitol is thirsty for blood. They're expecting something ultraviolent from these Games. Sequel to Born to Die, but can be a stand-alone as well. Closed SYOT, viewers can sponsor.
1. Cruel World

**Welcome to Ultraviolence, a.k.a. The 78th Hunger Games! I've received some tributes already, but there are still plenty of slots left, so make sure to submit if you're interested. Everyone can submit up to three tributes! All the information is on my profile.**

 **This is a sequel to the 77th Hunger Games, Born to Die, but you don't necessarily have to read the first one to submit a tribute or understand what's going on, unless you don't want spoilers for the first one.**

 **Many of you also correctly guessed that I'm getting these titles from Lana Del Rey albums xD. I don't know why but so many of her album names fit with the Hunger Games. Without further ado, here is the introductory chapter of our new installment!**

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 _Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker_

This year's meeting with President Snow has me feeling more rattled than the previous one. If you had told me that last year, I would have laughed and said that the President and I saw eye to eye on everything, and that once our first meeting was finished, I would never have to worry about his opinions again. But everything has changed since the 77th Games, what to any outsider was a resounding success, but to me, the President and a select few was a historic disaster. The Nylon boy might have made a fool of me then, but I am determined to make up for my mistakes with an even better, more exciting Games with tricks and dangers at every turn. I'm confident, even if my knee is bouncing up and down incessantly as I wait outside Snow's office.

There's a mirror across the hallway that reflects my own pale face, remade in makeup by my Avoxes and my own hand, attempting to make me look like the ferocious businesswoman that I always wanted to be, and that I now am. I doubt that it will fool Snow, however, if he catches sight of my shaking hands and wavering voice. I try to steel myself the best I can before his secretary comes to announce that he's ready for me.

I nervously close the door behind me, taking in the large office. I always admired the styling of the Presidential mansion, with dark wooden furnishings and wide open spaces, always decorated with flowers for a pop of color. Snow looks up as I enter and gives me a barely-there smile.

"Good morning, Miss Presque," he says, gesturing for me to sit. I do so with a flourish of my light green dress.

"It's an honor to speak to you as always, President," I say, perhaps too stiffly, but he doesn't acknowledge that.

"You as well, Miss Presque. My prized Head Gamemaker. The news channels seem to be awaiting these Games with expectations due to last year's success. I'm pleased to say that from what I've seen so far, you won't disappoint."

"Thank you," I say with surprise. "My team and I have been working very hard to get all of the details just right. I think the Capitol will be very pleased with the arena."

"That's all very good to hear. What about the security for the Justice Buildings and the tributes' apartments?" His piercing blue eyes fix me with an icy stare.

"That is in order as well," I say quickly. "All of the cameras in the Justice Buildings' waiting rooms have been checked and are ready for use. Last year was just a fluke, but we won't let something like that happen again."

I don't mention that in the outer districts, most of the security cameras anywhere either aren't on most of the time or were never made to work in the first place, just dummy cameras to scare people from doing things they weren't supposed to. But not this year- the cameras have all been checked in all twelve districts and will be watched by a band of Peacekeepers during the goodbyes after the Reapings. Nothing will slip under our noses this year.

"It won't happen again," Snow says, in that tone that sends shivers down my spine. "Things like that don't happen in the Hunger Games. It is all under our control. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. President," I confirm, my breath coming a little quicker than usual. "It's all under control."

...

The Gamemaking Center was dark when I arrived. The chauffeur service for the Gamemakers will be wondering where I am when they arrive to my villa tomorrow morning. The reporters will crowd outside the Center, cursing my absence and eventually interrogating my coworkers as they arrive for work. Maybe I should return home for my last night of full rest, but I don't think I'll be able to sleep anyway.

Instead I sit at my desk, alone in the building except for the Avoxes cleaning in the main room, sighing as I look over the documents for the bets that were placed on the Reapings. Now that Rowan is gone, the statisticians seem lost, like all of the training they received in school and in the Gamemaking Academy went completely to waste. I knew that letting Rowan go would be a blow to the team, but I didn't think they'd become so inept at everything. I haven't chosen a new head of the department since none of them have shown any extraordinary talent or leadership skills over the last six months since I finally fired Rowan. Perhaps they're still too loyal to him to vie for his old job, but someone will have to step up eventually.

I sigh as I think over my interview with Caesar Flickerman today, the humming of the vacuums the next room over like the applause of the audience after Caesar told another witty joke. I'm not exactly one for wit, but I can make them lean to hear my soft voice and see the glint in my eye that promises bloodshed. That's what the Games critics say at least.

I know that these Games will have to be even bigger, better, and more exciting than the last. As far as anyone knows, last year's Games were a complete success, unmarred by false identities and lies. The Capitol was intrigued by the arena's traps, mutts, and layout, and was eager to see what I had planned this year. For a moment, looking down on my arena plans, I feel a slight twinge of the excitement I used to feel every year as the season rolled around. I remember last year, how I had drank in everything about Reaping day, knowing that I would never forget my first Reaping as Head Gamemaker.

I sit up straighter, pulling up the map of the arena on my screen, smiling wide as the landscape comes into view. I won't let worries and regrets drag me down. The best way to atone for my mistakes is to deliver an even better Games this year. From the arena to the tributes to the mutts, everything has to be perfect. I won't settle for anything less. These Games have to be as golden as the lights that shine in from the window outside, illuminating my face and the desk in a heavenly hue.

The next thing I remember is the bright lights of my office shining in my face and the soft voice of my assistant, Aelia. "Miss Presque…" she says gently. "I didn't expect you to be here."

I raise my head and rub my eyes, glancing out the window. The golden lights of the Gamemaking Center are still on, reporters crowding the pavement as Gamemakers try to force their way through. Capitol citizens take pictures in front of the building, laughing their worries away. I yawn and close the shade, standing up to take Aelia's offering of coffee.

"Thank you," I grumble, looking out onto the main room where my team is assembled, some joking around while others check the cameras in the districts for any unrest. I take a deep breath and rummage through my closet, eventually procuring my pristine white Gamemaking suit. "I'll be out in a minute, Aelia."

She nods demurely and leaves, closing the door behind her with a click. Time for battle.

 _Tag Nylon (13)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games_

My mother brushes my hair back as I stare at myself in the mirror. My purple fringe is gone, replaced with a color that Spool suggested- a deep red that makes me look like I'm bleeding. But I don't care that much- the Capitol will probably be upset that I changed it, which is worth it. If I have to see one more little boy with his hair dyed purple by his parents, I'll be sick. Those parents pretend that their own child is a tribute in the Games, while the districts have to actually send their children to their deaths. The thought makes my blood boil.

I guess I can expect to see this burgundy now on every other person in the Capitol, unless they've tired of me now that the next Games are afoot. Perhaps I'll be lucky enough that they forgot about me completely.

"You look so handsome," my mother says, running her hands down my shoulders.

"Thanks Mom," I say quietly, not meeting her eyes. I know I should try to make a better effort to connect with my family before I leave for the Capitol, but I just can't bring myself to. I have to distance myself before leaving for the Capitol to pretend that District Eight and the rest of Panem are in separate universes. The Reaping exists in a different dimension than this quiet, warm home.

It's the same when the Capitol sends cameras to Eight to film me doing my talent- putting on puppet shows for the populace. They are very popular among the citizens, who are eager for a reprieve from their woes and to escape into a child's world of wonder for a little while. But I haven't been the one writing the shows- the rest of the Sock Knights take care of it. Even Spool has been taking more leadership in our band of friends, who know focus most of our attention on the shows.

Just then, my twin brother Spool emerges from the other room, dressed in gray slacks and a dress shirt. We look just alike, except his hair is back to its natural dark color now. He smiles at us as he passes into the kitchen for some breakfast. He doesn't seem nervous, but I can't help but wonder if the Capitol is planning something horrendous. What if he's Reaped this year, again? What if the Capitol plans to punish me again for my insolence? It wouldn't be the first time family members were Reaped consecutively, and I don't doubt the Capitol would love to see the twin of the youngest victor in history take his own stab at the victory.

"Don't worry about him," my mother says softly, hugging me once before pulling away. "We'll be fine while you're gone."

I know she must have the same fears as me, but she drifts away before I can answer. I don't know how I'll survive five more Reapings after this one while Spool is in the Reaping pool. The rest of the Sock Knights, our band of friends, are too. Aside from Hessian. My hearts hurts when I think about our late friend, who died because of my trickery. His parents don't leave their house anymore, and we haven't seen them since the funeral. But of course, the funeral didn't really include Hessian's body. The Peacekeepers never returned it.

I sigh as I straighten my clothing in the mirror, preparing to join my family for breakfast- our last meal together before I head to the Capitol as a mentor for a pair of unlucky children. It's strange how I feel so much older than I did just a year ago. Even if an eighteen-year old is Reaped, I have a feeling I would still feel older than them, not odd at all about training them.

I can hear the sounds of my family laughing quietly in the kitchen and I steel myself before heading inside.

 _Marcelle Agelasta (26)- Gamemaker_

Sponsor's Square is silent as a mouse as the Reapings begin, empty of the usual chattering celebrities and their advisors. I sit alone on an elaborate stone bench, listening to the faint sounds of birds chirping in the distance. Birds and other wildlife aren't common here in the Capitol- these ones were raised here in the Square to give it more ambience. As the tributes struggle to survive in an outdoor arena, the sponsors sit here in a similarly constructed environment, trying to help their favorites along. I think I would like the atmosphere more if I didn't know why I was here.

When Bellona assigned me to the Sponsor Department last year, I thought she was joking. But I soon realized she was dead serious as preparations for the Games dragged on and I was left in charge of the drunk, disrespectful buffoons that will arrive at the Square as soon as the Reapings are over. I sigh as I watch Claudius Templesmith excitedly talk over the national anthem on the giant screen on one wall of the courtyard. My pen absently scratches over the notepad that I'll take notes on during the Reapings. Experience hasn't warmed me up to this job in the slightest. I miss the days where Bellona and I were best of friends, watching the Games with rapt attention on the plush couches of our parents home, dreaming of one day being able to engineer something so beautiful and dangerous. Or later, when we met Rowan at the Gamemaking Academy, each of us planning out our futures as the masters of the Games.

But all of that was lost when Bellona was named Head Gamemaker like she always wanted. I was resigned to the Square, and Rowan was fired for reasons unknown and probably inconsequential. He won't tell me why, but I imagine it's because he's so afraid of what she could do to him.

I frown as the screen switches to Bellona's interview with Caesar Flickerman. Her easy-going smile that turns so flawlessly into a deadly smirk fills me with rage. How can she be so nonchalant about everything that she's done? Just because her first Games were won by a twelve-year old doesn't make her special. If anything, it means they weren't hard enough. I huff in annoyance, scratching on my notepad until the page tears. She deserves to pay for what she's done. The mask she puts on for the nation will have to break eventually. And I intend to break it.

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 **So here's the prologue for Ultraviolence! I hope it's not too boring. There are lots of tribue spots still open, so make sure to submit if you haven't already! Just click on my profile.**

 **I promise things will be more interesting as we get going. I hope to start with the Reapings right away, but if I need to I'll write another pre-chapter. :) Thanks for reading!**


	2. Beauty and Rage

**Hello again! I decided to write another prologue until some more of the tribute slots fill up. If you've reserved a tribute, please be sure to send them in soon! Also, if you've only sent in one tribute, keep in mind that you have a much lower chance of being chosen. There have been some people who have only submitted once, and all of them are submitting in the same slots. This means that only one of them can be chosen and the rest of the submitters will be left out completely, if that makes sense. So if you would, you can submit up to three tributes!**

 **Also, for those who don't know, there is a sponsorship system for this story. The details are on my profile, but essentially a review earns you five points. So if you would like to participate, go ahead and leave a review for each chapter. You can sponsor a tribute even if they aren't yours, or even if you don't have any tributes at all. Thanks everyone!**

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 _"I was filled with poison,_

 _but blessed with beauty and rage."_

 _Celia Winterbourne (20)- Victor of the 76th Hunger Games_

The air is uncharacteristically chilly today. District Two has hot summers and dry, cold winters, and Reaping day during the late spring is usually on the warmer side. But as I step outside at sunrise, the ground is cold beneath my bare feet and the sky is cloudy. Pale sunlight filters through them as I walk to the garden. I hardly feel the chill anymore thanks to nearly two years of styling as the "Ice Queen". Goosebumps appear on my skin, but I don't shiver in case anyone is watching.

When I reach my garden that extends the length of behind the house, I smile at lean down to sniff one of the blossoming flowers. The white petals will disappear as the sun stretches farther across the sky. Moonflowers bloom at night and leave in the morning, so I have to come here every morning to see them before they go away. Since almost no one else is awake, they're like my little secret.

I take a few deep breaths as I roll out my mat and prepare for my morning workout. I may not have to prepare for the Games anymore, but it's important for avictor to keep in shape, especially since I'm a mentor. I begin to stretch, mindlessly going through my workout routine. It's become such second nature to me that I don't have to think about it. The moonflowers slowly close behind me as the sun rises higher. The other flowers are still as vibrant as ever, but I'm sad to watch my secret petals disappear.

After I won my Games, my mentors said gardening wasn't an appropriate talent for a Career such as myself, with a reputation to uphold. So I'd been given the talent of dance instead, even though I'd never danced in my life. It wasn't difficult to learn, and went along well with my image of a cold, lean, beautiful woman with ambition. Dancing was graceful and beautiful, but it also could have a certain kind of violence in the movements and in the music. It existed for its own sake, and for the sake of the audience. Gardening was too focused on nurturing and caring for something outside of one's self. So even though I loved it, I had to keep it hidden from the public. I didn't take care of the plants myself, though I would like to, and instead relegated the task to my housekeeper.

The sun is starting to shyly peek out from behind the clouds when I hear my father's voice calling me from inside the house. I decide to end my workout, even though I'm not finished, and wipe the sweat from my face. I roll the mat back up and internally say goodbye to my plants as I reenter the house. My father is standing in the kitchen, making the typical breakfast of Careers: eggs, oatmeal, and a spinach shake. We've never been exactly poor, but even when we were at our lowest financial moments, my father would always make sure I had the food I needed to stay strong and fit.

"Good morning, dad," I say wearily as I sit at the table. The breakfast is almost ready. He must have snuck in right after I went outside. He doesn't live here, since an attractive adult victor living with their parents could be seen as a lack of independence, but he never misses a moment of time he could spend training me, even now.

"Good morning, Celia," he says in his sharp, high voice. He doesn't turn to look at me. "Did anyone see you going to the garden?"

"I was working out."

"That's not what I asked."

I roll my eyes. "No, no one saw me."

"Good." He turns and slides the eggs onto my plate, then places the shake in front of me. I choke it down as I have every morning since I was ten and started my training. I've never gotten used to the taste, but I know it's good for me.

"You should wear something lighter today," he continues, beginning to wash the dishes.

"That's what I was thinking." Whenever it's colder out on a day that I'll be filmed, it's always a good idea to drive home the Ice Queen image. The Capitol loves it.

"Then go get dressed once you're finished eating, and make sure you have everything packed."

"I will."

I quickly finish my breakfast and bound up the stairs for my bedroom. The only person I feel free to act like this around is my father, who has been through everything with me. When I expressed a desire to start training, he was among my only supporters. The trainers at the Academy didn't think that I had what it took, since my family wasn't upper class and therefore couldn't always afford the best equipment. I had no mother, for reasons I still don't know nor care about, and my father was the one who taught me how to stand up for myself and quiet a crowd with a simple glance.

You are your own biggest weapon, I remember him saying. If you can't slice them, you can still tear them down. And I did, during my training and all throughout my Games. The trainers and other trainees were intimidated by my cool confidence and lack of emotion, and the Capitol was enthralled by my unaffected behavior in the arena. Despite cold, hunger, dehydration, or blood loss, I never faltered or let show any discomfort. I absently reach up to touch the scar on my left shoulder, where one of my opponents managed to thrust a spear through my flesh. The wound was easily healed in the Capitol, but I will bear the scar forever

The dress that I've picked out for today is a light blue as usual, but this time I've traded out the typical silver accents for some decorative flowers on the right shoulder and the hem. It may not fit my image, but flowers are in style in the Capitol anyway. I do my hair in a curly bun and keep my face mostly devoid of makeup. My gray eyes are more striking that way. Besides, I don't like the feeling of the makeup caked onto my skin.

Overall, I think the outfit will make my styling team happy. I've had the same one since my Games, and they've taught me how to dress well for the Capitol audience. Even more importantly, how to dress for the men and women who would pay for the pleasure of my company for a night or two. I've made quite a bit of money from my ability to negotiate with my customers, even more than most victors earn, if anything, from their time with clients. Since I don't have to work most of the year, this next month or so will provide all of the income for my father and I, not that we exactly need any due to my Games winnings. But it's nice to have something to do. I get bored of sitting in the Academy, watching weakling teenagers try to learn how to use a bow and arrow.

I check my small suitcase to make sure I've packed everything I need. Truthfully, most essentials will be provided for me, but I like to bring some of my own jewelry and undergarments. Last year I missed my warm bathrobe, so I packed that as well. I don't have many personal items to bring, aside from the crown from my victory, but that stays here, safe in my mansion.

I return to the kitchen, where my father is waiting. He looks over me once, then nods in approval. We begin our journey to the Square silently. The other victors and their families are chatting noisily in the streets as they prepare to leave, but they part for us like butter as we breeze through them. No one dares look us in the eye as we make our way through the District. Even the Peacekeepers give us respectful nods as we pass. When we reach the Square, we part ways without any words. There hasn't really been any need for them in my career so far, anyway.

 _Jabbock Darlson (20)- Victor of the 75th Hunger Games_

I decide to give up on sleep and quietly crawl out of bed. The room is dark, but as I descend to the kitchen, I can see the sun rising over the mountains. I contemplate making breakfast, but I don't want to wake anyone, and it might get cold before they do get up. Instead I make myself a cup of coffee and sit at the window, watching as the clouds slowly part to reveal a bright dawn. Such an irony that the world is so beautiful on today of all days. I sigh as I sip at my coffee. I don't like the taste, but I need to stay awake. I didn't sleep well at all.

Reaping days are always the worst, and I have a feeling they'll only get worse as time goes on, not better. I remember that as a child, I was always too busy, too preoccupied to even spare a thought for the Reapings. The Hunger Games were just another part of life, just like how the workers in the nuclear plants would eventually succumb to radiation, or how the smog in the air would inevitably clog up your lungs and give you breathing problems later on. Or how the plants sometimes had "workplace accidents" that would kill a few dozen people every year or so. It was horrible, sure, but what good would come out of preparing for something that you couldn't change? Reapings were just another morning in Five. But now that I'm a mentor, Reapings are the worst of days, dreaded for weeks, months in advance. Standing on that podium and watching two scared children, just as I was, forced up to my level with the knowledge that I am tasked with trying to keep them alive… it's worse than any nightmare I've ever had following my Games.

Of course, loss isn't new to me. My little sister died when we were young, leaving me an only child to a pair of grieving parents. When I was eleven, my father became too sickly from working at the power plants to continue, and he had to quit. In all honesty, he should have stepped down before that, but he wanted to give me as much childhood as I could have. After he quit, I had to take his place to ensure our survival. Then when I was fifteen, my mother had to leave the plant too, making me the sole breadwinner in the family. I had to drop out of school and start working nonstop in order to support them. Bedridden most days and unable to help even around the house, my parents were doomed to the life that many in Five all face. The fate that I thought I would someday meet.

When I was Reaped at seventeen, I realized that if I died, so would they. But if I won, then I could afford treatment from the Capitol, and maybe even cure them completely. Now I know that a complete cure is a pipedream, but the Capitol medicine has worked its wonders.

 _"As a reminder to the Districts that they could not have rebelled at all if it were not for weapons and provisions from the Capitol, the tributes will not be provided with any weapons and scarce other supplies in the arena."_

President Snow's words are still as clear in my mind as they were the day I heard them, sitting with my parents the night before the Reaping in our dingy apartment. My parents were horrified and outraged, but I remember thinking that it wasn't the worst Quarter Quell we had had before. But as I stood in the arena, surrounded by twenty-three other tributes, I realized how bad it was. When the gong sounded, the Careers simply rant to whoever was nearest them, not bothering with heading to the Cornucopia at all.I barely managed to escape, and most of the tributes in my Games died horrible mutt deaths or were at the losing end of physical fights that went on for hours. I only won after smashing the skull of the guy from Eleven with a rock. I shuddered at the memory, willing it away before it spiraled out of control.

"Jabbock?"  
I must have been sitting here for longer than I thought, if Alora is awake and calling for me. She usually sleeps late, even on Reaping days, since she used to work the second shift at the plants.

"I'm in here," I call back. I finish my coffee and rinse out the mug in the sink. Alora trudges in a few minutes later, yawning and stretching, her blonde hair skewed at odd angles. I smile softly as I watch her search for something to eat. Alora is my one solace I have in the world, aside from my parents of course. We met exactly two years ago, the night before my first Reaping as a mentor. I was freaking out and decided to have a walk around the district in teh middle of the night to clear my head. Unfortunately I ended up on the side of the street, unable to remember where I was and convinced I was back inside the arena. Alora had found me walking home from work early in the morning, and gently helped me get back to Victor's Village. Now I couldn't exist without her.

"How are you feeling?" she asks as she leans against the counter, buttering a piece of bread.

"I'm fine," I lie, still staring out the window. I know I should try to be more affectionate considering I'm leaving tonight and won't return for many weeks, depending on how many Capitol citizens would like to pay for a night alone with me. My stomach turns at the thought, but I choke down the panic. This might be the last year I have to see clients, if my publicity team allows Alora and I to get married this year. Marriage tends to turn off many of the clients, who usually want victors to be young and single to have the allusion of attainability. It doesn't held that Alora is almost six years older than me. She's still young, but not the picture of young love that the Capitol loves for their victors.

Alora just hums in response, probably knowing that I'm not telling the truth but willing to let it slide. I know for a fact that she'll miss me, just like she did last year, but as usual I can't help but wonder if she'll leave while I'm gone, or perhaps see other men as I'm seeing other people in the Capitol, though against my will. I know it's a foundless fear, but sometimes I worry that, like so many shallow people in the Career districts and Capitol, if Alora only cares about me because of my success and money. She no longer has to work now that she's with me, though she does a lot of charity throughout the district, and she gets to eat whatever she wants and live in a beautiful home.

Perhaps sensing my racing thoughts, Alora draws closer to me and rests her head on my shoulder. I sigh and try to relax. I wish I could go back to being the person I was before the Games, even though I was miserable back then too, just for different reasons. I didn't care about anything then, and now I worry so much that some nights I wake up either screaming or crying from a dream I can't remember.

It hasn't helped that last year was siblings. My first year, the 76th Games, I had a pair of younger tributes who died during the bloodbath, which I thought would really be the worst thing that could happen as a mentor. But last year I had learned differently- eighteen year old Caleb and sixteen year old Amelia seemed like a powerful alliance. They were half-siblings, the drama of which gained them lots of attention, and they were both older and received high scores. And yet Caleb had died during the bloodbath and Amelia not long after that. The feeling of watching two promising tributes fall despite their strengths… that was the worst feeling as a mentor. Having a pair of definite bloodbaths was almost easier. At least I wouldn't have gotten my hopes up.

After a few minutes, Alora and I silently head to our bedroom to get ready for the Reaping. Alora dresses quickly before going to help my parents, but I stay and watch myself in the mirror. I've gained weight since my victory, but somehow I still see the poor, overworked, underfed kid from the plants. I can see the hopelessness in my eyes, that things might never get better. What "things" I mean anymore, I'm not sure.

I close my eyes as the screams of the girl from Eight, who I strangled in her sleep, rings in my ears. I hadn't wanted to kill her. I was just trying to steal some of her food as she slept, but she woke up and I had no choice. It's the Hunger Games after all.

My eyes look glassy as I stare at my reflection. I turn away abruptly, trying to steel myself for the days, weeks to come.

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 **I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I wanted to have some more backstory for my OC victors. This was really fun to write xD.**

 **If you haven't submitted yet, please do so! And if you've reserved a tribute, please send them in as quickly as possible. I'd like to get started on the Reapings next, but some of you still have reserved Career spots. It's not a problem, just letting you know that I'm ready to go. And also keep in mind what I said about submitting only one tribute.**

 **What did you think of Celia and Jabbock? I hope their characterization was interesting, especially since this is a different side of Celia we haven't seen before, and Jabbock is a completely new character.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	3. D1 Reaping: Black Beauty

**Hey everyone! Here are the tributes from District One. The tribute list still isn't final yet, but I have some of the tributes chosen. You can look at my profile to see which ones they are and which are still open. Thanks so much for the creators of the tributes in this chapter: TheAmazingJAJ and Platrium. I hope I do your tributes justice!**

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 _"You have no room for light._

 _Love is lost on you.."_

 _Callum Koche (18)- D1M_

I woke to the smell of my father cooking in the kitchen. Despite the fact that he was a chef, this was still a rare occurrence. Most of the time, the entire family had to be up and heading to work without breakfast, only eating after our employers did at their expensive villa. The smell of sizzling bacon and frying eggs signifies that this is one of our very few days off during the year. Reaping day. For most in District One, this day is a welcome vacation complete with entertainment and a chance to get on TV, but this Reaping is different for me.

I yawn as I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. The sunlight streams gently through the window, illuminating my small bedroom. I'm fortunate enough to have my own room, unlike my younger sisters, who have to share one. But it's not like we spend too long here in our home anyway. Most of our time is spent at our employers- the Mavroses. Like many of the lower class families in One, mine worked as servants for a richer one. Our family has served theirs for three generations now. People in One love tradition, and family occupations aren't any different. But I wouldn't have it any other was- serving others is the only thing I've ever known. At least I have a purpose that way.

I stumble into the kitchen in my pajamas, quietly pulling out a chair for myself and sitting down. I watch my father from the back as he cooks, humming softly and happily. My mother says that I inherited a lot from him; my cooking skills, my penchant for music despite always being out of tune, my quiet but caring nature.

When Gemma and Colette's door bangs open, our father jumps and turns with a laugh. Collette bounces into the kitchen with Gemma trailing after her demurely.

"I didn't hear you, Callum," he says with a toothy grin. "You might have a future career as a spy."

I just smile and pull up a chair for Colette. "Daddy, I'm hungry!" she whines. As usual, her jet black hair, so similar to mine, is sticking out at odd angles. I smooth it down as our father places a plate in front of each of us.

"Not for long…" he sings as he disappears into the other room, presumably to wake up our mother. Gemma sits on my other side and quietly begins eating. She is also like our father and I. She'll never want more than what she has- what she was born into. My stomach twists as I think about the fate that this life has led me into. Even my family doesn't know it… the plan is too delicate for anyone to know about, even our families.

I glance out the kitchen window to the nearby Mavros villa. My family, just like the others that serve them, live on the large estate on the Mavros property, so that we're always close enough to serve. What am I if not a loyal servant? What other prospects would I have? My father wasn't serious when he said I was fit to be a spy. I was born to serve… and serve I will.

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

I grin as I look at myself in the mirror. I'm used to seeing myself in black, but I never get tired of it. The black satin of my short cocktail dress is like liquid against my skin, rippling with the slightest breeze and clinging to the lines of my body. It will be an enticing sight for the Capitol for sure, especially since the black accentuates my pale skin and dark hair. The hem just reaches past my thighs and will easily blow up in the wind at the Reaping ceremony, not that I care much. I've topped it off with a face of dark makeup and a touch of green on my sleeves that brings out my eyes. I truly am the most beautiful tribute One has had in years. Everyone will see that when I volunteer.

"Passion!" In the other room, my mother is yelling for me. I sigh and roll my eyes, but quickly follow her voice anyway. She might annoy me at times, but she is my mother after all.

She's waiting in the elaborate, high-ceilinged sitting room. My heels click against the marble floors as I approach. She's standing with her nose crinkled as she examines the mantlepiece.

"I'll have to tell the servants to dust more when they get back tomorrow," she says as she rubs the offending dust between her fingers.

I huff. "Honestly they shouldn't get a day off," I sneered, shaking my head. "Does the house not need cleaning since it's Reaping day? We still need to eat, too!"

"I know, Passion," my mother says with an understanding twinkle in her eye. "Believe me, I do. Dominic made us breakfast last night, so you just have to heat it up. And we'll be heading to the Simones after the Reaping to celebrate, so be sure you're ready."

I turn away to hide my smirk. The rest of my family might still be in District One after the Reaping, but I won't. They don't know it yet, but I won't be back for quite some time. Then I can show up to Phantom Simone's house and finally proclaim my love for him, and he'll have no way to refuse. But that isn't the reason I'm heading to the arena, not really. I'm just too impatient to wait any longer. I know that I would likely be chosen as the volunteer for next year, but Staria, that conniving bitch, dared to suggest that I wouldn't be. I'll show her that I don't need the approval of the trainers to win the Games, or an extra year of training. I'll show everyone who ever doubted me.

I breeze into the kitchen, which is decorated, like most things in our large villa, in all black. I'm used to the darkness, but not to the absence of people in the house, making noise with their work even when they aren't speaking. Cooking, cleaning, preparing for whatever dinner party my father is throwing that night. It usually annoys me, but now the house seems eerily quiet.

I reach into the refrigerator for my breakfast just as Precious and Pride waltz into the kitchen. Neither are old enough to be Reaped, but both are dressed to the nines in black. Four year old Pride reaches up with a whine for my breakfast pastry.

"Mine! Please?" he tacks on at the end, batting his eyelashes at me. I roll my eyes, but break the pastry in half to give it to him. I put the rest in the microwave to warm up. Precious sits quietly at the table, watching the both of us. Though she's only ten, her eyes are observant and atke in every detail of our interactions, just like I did when I was younger. Or so my mother tells me. Except Precious doesn't try to use what she knows about people to get what she wants- she's too lovey-dovey for that. And while I love my family, anyone else better get out of my way.

"How are you this morning, Passion?" Precious asks me in her typical soft, sweet, unassuming voice. I raise an eyebrow as I take my food out of the microwave.

"What do you mean?" I know what she means. Precious was there at the catfight two weeks ago between Staria and I- that conniving bitch- where she told me I didn't have what it took to be a tribute. My best friend Annabelle dragged us apart before we started tearing into each other, but everyone heard what we said to each other. Precious is starting to take dancing lessons at the same school as me, which I knew would come back to bite me in the ass. Precious is too smart to not suspect something. She knows me well.

"You seem quiet," she explains, crossing her legs. "I thought something was bothering you."

She doesn't elaborate more than that. Maybe I am acting a little odd, but if anything it's because the servants aren't here. Who am I going to nag about getting my breakfast order wrong if Callum isn't the one cooking it? Who's going to make fun of him when he scrunches up his face in disappointment?

I take a bite of my eggs to hide my smirk. I'll have all the time in the world to torture him in the Capitol, and even more in the arena. That is, until he dies, of course.

 _Callum Koche (18)- D1M_

My outfit for the Reaping isn't too different from what I usually wear at work. The servants in One are usually dressed in white, but the Mavroses prefer everything to be black. It's their brand, after all. "Dark is in, light is out." The slogan of Mavros Incorporated has been burned into my brain since I was a child. It plays on the television constantly, whenever any of the commercials Parker Mavros' luxury items comes on- all colored black. Black clothes, black furniture, black jewelry… there's no room for light in the Mavros company, or in their household. As such, most of my clothes are black as well, many of them tailored for me by Parker himself.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I remember the first time I'd donned this same outfit. That was the first day I'd met Passion, the girl who would become both my vice and my virtue. She was my employer, and as such I had no choice but to follow every order she gave me. She made that clear the day we met, when I made her morning omelette wrong. I thought I was pretty good at cooking- my father had taught me after all- but the preteen girl I'd just met had thrown a fit and demanded I redo it until I got it right. I stood sweating at the stove while she loomed over me. She was taller than me then. I've grown a lot in recent years, but she still somehow seems like a giant whenever I'm in her presence.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I recall the incident from last week. She had stood so tall above me, cornering me in an empty hallway on the second floor as she told me the plan in excruciating detail.

 _"I will volunteer first. Everyone will be very angry, but don't react. When the boy's name is called, be as quick as you can. Charm might try to hold you back, since he was chosen for this year. Don't let him touch you- you will be the lawful volunteer if you call out first. When you get to the stage, don't look at anyone in the crowd, just look at the cameras and smile. Don't look at me either. If you look at the crowd or at me, you'll hear about it all the way to the Capitol. Are you listening to me, Callum?"_

I had been listening, with horror and resigned acceptance. If Passion wanted this from me, then who was I to tell her no? I'd never done it before, and I wasn't about to start now. My whole life has been devoted to caring for her every need, so why not protect her in the arena as well?

"Callum, it's time to leave!"  
I take a deep breath and turn away from the mirror, closing my closet door. This will probably be the last time I ever see my bedroom, my home. I take one longing look around before shaking my head and getting myself together. It's ridiculous to wish for things to be different. I'm here to serve Passion, not reminisce about what could have been.

As my family walks to the Reaping, I try to memorize everything about their faces and mannerisms; my mother straightening out Colette's clothes and admonishing her for letting them get so wrinkled. Gemma's soft smile as she reaches for my hand and holds it as we amble down the street. I find myself walking slower than usual, trying to make the walk longer. But eventually I have to say goodbye and go stand in my section with the other eighteen-year olds.

I avoid everyone's eyes as well as I can, not even looking for Passion. I hear Alabaster calling for me and slowly walk in his direction, offering him a tense smile. He grins and immediately begins rambling on about his plans for after the Reaping. He's a servant in the Mavros kitchen with me and my father, and his neverending blabber is very familiar to me.

"Everyone's heading to the de Vandefaires after lunch. You'll come, too, won't you? Jett will want us all to be there."

"Jett should be going to the Simones," I say timidly. "That's where everyone in high society will be."

"He's sneaking away after eating, Callum!" Alabaster exclaims, like it was obvious. "And everyone is supposed to meet him at his house to train for a little while."

"We're eighteen," I murmur. "There's no use in training after this."

"Sure, but Jett is seventeen. He wants a good shot at the spot next year."

Jett de Vandefaire was among the elites here in One, and like many of them he has been training to be a Career his whole life. A few years ago he convinced some servants like Alabaster and I, as well as some from his own household, to help him train. I never took it too seriously, just doing whatever Jett wanted me to do, but now I'm a little grateful for the training.

"I won't be there," I say, not wanting to lie.

"What?!" Alabaster looks at me like I'm crazy. He knows I've never missed a practice, never disobeyed any of the various elites that we serve. "Where will you be?"

"Passion wants me to do something," I say evasively. Alabaster snorts as the ceremony begins.

The mayor steps up to give the usual speech about how and why the Hunger Games came into existence, the same boring speech that we have to hear every year. I recall Passion's instruction as the time for the Reaping draws near. I can't give any indication that Passion convinced me to do this. I know that's why she doesn't want me to look at her- I need to seem like a Career like any other.

I practice by holding my chin high, watching with wide unflinching eyes as the escort comes forward.

"As usual, ladies first!" she squeals. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I have to call out before anyone else does. There will be competition, both from the boy who was chosen for this year and possibly from other usurpers. Passion will be very angry if I'm not first.

"Diana Ferran!"

My head snaps to watch as one of our fellow servants in Mavros villa proceeds to the stage. Her pretty face, usually so relaxed and open, is stricken. She must know that someone will volunteer for her, but the fear that they won't is always there.

"Are there any volunteers-"

"I volunteer!"

Passion's voice rings out angrily, echoing off the sharp corners and broad walls of buildings. She prances to the stage like a prized pony, ready to be shown to the world. She's wearing a revealing black dress with a garter on her thigh, and glittering diamond earrings. She winks at the camera once she's onstage, then grabs the microphone from the escort's hand.

"Took you long enough to ask for volunteers," she tells her, then turns to the crowd. "My name is Passion Mavros, and I am so proud to represent District One, as well as my father's company Mavros Incorporated! If you choose to support me, you won't be disappointed!" she winks again, this time more suggestively. "And remember: black is in, light is out!"

Passion's family leads everyone in applause. I can hear her mother cheering her name. They didn't know about the plan, but they certainly aren't upset. The family of the chosen girl will be very angry, though, as will the mentors. Augustus Braun, our only victor since the 67th Hunger Games, will be red up to his ears with anger. He'll think that Passion has sacrificed One's chance at a victory, but he doesn't know her. Passion always gets what she wants. Always.

Passion daintily steps away from the microphone so that the escort can take it back, as if she didn't just steal it a few moments before.  
"And now for the boys," the escort says, sounding a little flustered. I puff my chest out and take in a breath. I feel Alabaster's curious gaze on me, perhaps sensing that something is up.

"Royal Ametson!"

A young boy reluctantly meanders out of the thirteen year-old section and up to the stage. My heart is beating so fast for some reason. There's no reason to be nervous. I'm just fulfilling orders as I've always done. I understand what Passion meant when she said the escort took too long to ask for volunteers. It seems like forever until she finally returns to the microphone, an arm around poor Royal.

"And would anyone like to volunteer for this young man?"

"I volunteer!" I shout, stepping away from Alabaster and into the sweltering lights that illuminate the pathways.

Everyone's eyes turn to me. For a moment I freeze, not used to being the center of attention. But I remember what I have to do and march to the stage, not meeting anyone's eyes. When I reach the top of the stairs, I ignore Passion and simply look to the escort for instructions.

"Would you like to introduce yourself, young man?" she asks, still a little uneasy. She senses that something is wrong about this Reaping.

"My name is Callum Koche," I tell a nearby camera. "I'm eighteen years old. I'm here to compete in the Hunger Games."

"A concise description!" the escort cries. "Shalal we all congratulate our tributes for District One?!"

The applause is sparse at first, but crescendos as the mayor encourages everyone with his hands. I accidentally glance over the crowd, but no one really seems angry. I should have known that most people wouldn't care much about who represents them in the Games, as long as they bring a good reputation back with them, dead or alive. Only the elites will be truly upset.

The escort has me shake hands with Passion, but I still don't make eye contact with her. I can see her waving back to the crowd out of the corner of my eye as we're led into the Justice Building. We're separated before I can even ask her if I did okay.

Peacekeepers escort me to an extravagantly furnished room with dark wooden walls and plush couches galore. I silently sit on one and stare at the wall, preparing myself for the onslaught that my family will surely unleash on me soon. I'm not mistaken- a few minutes later I hear them in the hallway, panicked voices raised.

"Callum!" My father bursts through the door with a shout. His eyes are wide and glassy. "Callum, what were you thinking?"  
"Are you really going away?" Colette asks behind him, sounding genuinely curious. It's one of the few times I've ever seen her so calm. Her arms hang limply at her sides.

"I am," I say softly. "Don't forget me, okay?"

I mean it in a playful way, but I've never been very witty. My parents stare at me in horror.

"Why are you doing this?" my mother demands tearfully. "Is this because of passions Mavros? Did she bully you into doing this? I knew we should have intervened, talked to Parker and Priscilla about how she was treating you. She can't do this-"

"Mom, this isn't my choice," I explain. "She told me to help her in the Games. She's above us."

"She is a nasty, vile girl," she says with venom, practically shaking with fury. "She won't get away with this, Callum."

"With what?" I ask curiously.

No one seems to know how to respond. Then Gemma comes forward, slowly with her head bowed. "I understand why you did it, Callum," she whispers. "She hands me a pink bracelet, one that I recognize from her daily outfits. It's one of her favorites. I take it gently and slide it on my wrist. I smile at her, reaching up to ruffle her hair.

"Thanks, Gemma. I promise you'll get it back."

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

The waiting room is lavish, but I can tell the cost of everything in here is nothing compared to the furnishings of the Mavros villa. I glare with disdain at the soft rug underneath my feet as I pace around the room. In the entryway of our house, there was a rug made from a real panther, jet black with it's beady green eyes wide open and staring at anyone who dares cross into our home, teeth bared. This place is like a playground to someone like me, raised in luxury even by District One standards and trained since age nine for the Games. I'm the most gorgeous tribute to come out of this district in years, and my training is impeccable. If the Capitol is anything like this cheap waiting room, then I have these Games in the bag.

The door swings open to reveal my family, all cheering for me and smothering me in hugs. I feel an unwitting smile spread across my face. "Did I surprise you?"

"You really did, honey!" my mother cries with excitement. "In the Games a year early! But you have to make it count." Her tone suddenly turns serious, and I can see in the depths of her eyes the same shadowed expectation I've seen for years- that I should make something of myself, serve the family name and create a legacy.

"Passion is going to be famous?" Pride asks petulantly, his dark hair curled on top of his head like a cartoon character. "I want to be famous! Mommy!"

"Quiet, Pride," she says sharply. "You'll be famous too one day. Don't be jealous."

"Mom loves you the best now," Precious says sullenly, reaching up for a short hug. "She'll never pay attention to me again."

"She will if you stick to dancing and become a famous dancer," I say with a smile. "Or a tribute yourself." It's a little late for Precious to start training, but if she tries hard enough she could make up for lost time.

But her eyes tell me that's not what she means. In our household, competition between the three of us is always encouraged. Mother told me every night when she was pregnant with Precious that the family only had so much money, and it would have to go to someone worthy. She gave the same talk four years ago before Pride was born. Though she was probably lying that only one of us will receive the entire family fortune- she loves drama, just as I do- there's something even more important at stake. The reputation of a Mavros, one of the richest and most well-known names in the Capitol and all of Panem, is a heavy burden to bear, and I will be judged not only by the nation but by my family, my friends, my peers on my performance. I may be the favorite now, but I can be easily replaced if I die and precious ends up becoming a renowned dancer. I will be all but forgotten.

"Make us proud, Passion," my father says, his dark serious eyes fixing me in place. "You have what it takes, but you have to make it count."

"I will, dad," I assure him with a smirk. "I have more assets than most Careers in the arena ever have."

They all must know that I coerced Callum into volunteering, but they don't mention it, laving without even saying his name. I doubt they'll visit him; he's just a replaceable servant after all. After they leave, my best friend Annabelle arrives to say her goodbyes. Anxious as usual, she fusses over me volunteering a year early, but I brush off her concerns and assure her I'll be fine. Annabelle and I must have spent thousands of hours in the training academy together, and I've mastered the way to calm her down.

"I brought something for you," she says, her voice shaky with repressed tears. I cok my head to the side as she pulls a glove out of her pocket. "My training glove," she says. "I've used it everyday for years at the Academy."

She hands it to me tenderly. I smile and slip it on my right hand, marveling at how it's stayed together all these years without fraying or splitting. I must go through a pair of training gloves every few months, but Annabelle has always had a softer touch than me. She smiles sweetly as I flex my fingers.

"It's perfect," I say. "I'll be able to grip my mace better than anyone else."

"I'm glad." She sounds relieved, perhaps afraid I would make a scene about wanting a more expensive token. I might if it was someone else… but today is my special day, and the glove is gesture more than anything. I reminder of our friendship.

I give her a hug before she leaves, then sit and play with the glove as I wait for the Peacekeepers to guide me to the train station. I can only hope that I won't destroy the glove before I return it to Annabelle. I have a tendency to do that.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed the introductions to our first tributes, Callum and Passion! Thanks you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far! Please continue to do so.**

 **What were your first impressions of Callum and Passion? Like or dislike them? Thanks for reading!**


	4. D2 Reaping: Real and the Fake

**Hey everyone! Thanks for being so patient with me on this chapter. School has started up again and I didn't have much time to write. But I hope you enjoy the tributes from District Two.**

 **All of the tribute slots are filled now, so thanks so much for all your hard work in creating characters. I'm trying my best to both choose tributes that are interesting while also trying to make sure everyone has a tribute in the Games. I think there are a few people who only submitted once or twice who will be left out, and I'm really sorry about that! I'm going to try to have the official list on my profile in a few days. If you've reserved a tribute, be sure to have them in quickly.**

 **A big thank you to the creators of these tributes- haydesx and Audmirable!**

* * *

" _Our dreams and our rage_

 _Blurring the lines between real and the fake_

 _Dark and lonely_

 _I need somebody to hold me..."_

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

My broadsword rams into the practice dummy, soft gel splitting like warm butter from the blade's impact. The trainers hate that I destroy so many dummies, but sometimes I get ahead of myself. I guess I don't know my own strength at times. I set down the sword and pick up both pieces of the dummy, the shoulders and head followed by the torso. I glance around, but there's no one else here, which I already knew. Force of habit.

I deposit the ruined dummy in the storage closet, where the trainers will find it after I leave. Perhaps they'll be able to repair it. The only other things in the closet are a set of old armor reminiscent of Cato's armor in the 74th Games and a slew of empty water bottles. I stare long and hard at the armor as I remember Cato's words to me three months ago, when the victors gathered to decide who would be volunteering for that year. After the switch that happened with Rufina and Drusa last year, they decided to make the announcement very public and even threatened to fine anyone who tried to obstruct the chosen volunteers… or worse.

" _The male tribute for this year will be… Cyprian Clay!"_

I remember the crowd clapping for me, but there was only one person who was truly happy- my best friend Homer. The others were either too young to care or were candidates for the position I'd just stolen out from under them. I ignored their searing glances as I bowed my head slightly to the council of victors standing above us. For once, the disapproval didn't hurt, or even register in my mind as criticism against me. I was too elated, flying too high above everyone in that stuffy basement room of the Academy to care about their opinions.

But now that it's Reaping day, I feel the doubt creeping in. Homer says that everyone say it coming- that I should have known I would be chosen. To everyone else, I was the bloodthirsty, self contained killer that Two is so famous for. I had trained since I was six alongside Homer, despite all the roadblocks that had been set in my path. I was the most skilled swordsman our age and had an intimidating frame. I had a work ethic like no one else in the Academy. I can't help but stand up a little straighter when I think about all the times I've stayed behind far later than everyone else to train, throwing myself into combat while others hung back to the padded walls of the Academy, came in early in the morning like today to train before the sun comes up. Working has always been what i'm good at, the grease that ols the machine of my life and keeps me moving.

But I deflate a little when I remember that while my work ethic is certainly admirable, it's probably the only reason that I was chosen. There's nothing about my abilities that set me apart from the other tributes, no matter what Homer says. I never scored high in our training exams and usually was on the lower end of the batch. I even failed out after a year, when I was seven, though the trainers let me return if I trained hard enough. But Homer just rolls his eyes at me whenever I tell him about these things, just like whenever I tell him I'm afraid I won't win.

"You're going to win with no problem," he says every time. "You don't realize how good you are."

I'm still not so sure.

A loud noise from the other end of the Academy's large training area draws my attention away from my doubts and back into reality. It sounds like the door was swung open with a loud bang, like someone's in a hurry.

"Who is it?" I call out into the still air, my voice taking on the tense, smooth quality that I had perfected after so many years.

"It's just me."

I relax a little when I hear Garrison's voice. At least it's not a disgruntled trainee who came to take away my chances of volunteering. But Garrison is frightening for a number of other reasons, namely that he's one of the most prominent trainers here in the Academy.

He appears around the corner, tall and imposing as ever. His hair has started to gray in recent years, but in my mind he's still the same younger man that threw me out of the Academy's doors after I failed to do a simple sword sidestep three times in a row.

"What are you doing here, Cyprian?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. It's a change from his normal tone of question, which implies he already knows the answer.

"Just practicing," I say, trying to block the destroyed dummy with my body.

"It's Reaping day," he says incredulously. "You already have the job, Cyprian. You have nothing left to prove."

"I'm not trying to prove anything," I argue, letting a little bit of unrestrained anger into my voice. "I just want to be the best."

Garrison raises an eyebrow. "How are you going to be the best in a storage closet?" He leans to look behind me. "Hiding evidence?"

"I-" Flustered, I step aside so that he'll focus on the revealed dummy and not on my reddened face. "I didn't want Celia to be angry at me again."

"She yelled at you last time, didn't she?" Garrison chuckles. "It's not like you to sneak around. But if you're going to do it, do better."

He tosses a rusty spear past me into the closet. I nod and follow him back to the door of the Academy. The day is cooler than I expected, but the sun still shines bright above us. I shiver as I recall the day Garrison tossed me out of these doors in front of everyone, and the next day when homer convinced me to come back and beg to be readmitted. Garrison was the one to expel me, but he brought me back just as easily, albeit with a warning that if I mess up again, even in the slightest, I'd be back here in the blinding sunlight. Terrified of that prospect, I'd thrown everything I had into my training. I was only a child, but I knew that the Academy gave me a sense of accomplishment and belonging I'd never felt anywhere before. Not in school, not even in my own home.

I glance at Garrison and startle when I see he's watching me. "You've come a long way," he says, like he's reading my mind.

"I hope so."

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

Adrienne's long brown hair spills over her shoulders, almost reaching her waist. I watch as she gets up from my single person bed, slowly as always. She sees me watching from my closet and smiles blearily.

"Good morning," she says, voice groggy.

"Good morning," I reply with the same tone.

Her grin widens. She looks down to the blankets strewed on the floor where I slept. "I'm sorry I made you sleep on the floor," she says. "It's your big day."

"It's not a problem," I assure her, turning back to my closet to review outfit options for the Reaping. I need to make an impression, after all.

"I don't want your back to hurt today," she says. "And you need to be well-rested."

"Adrienne, don't worry," I laugh a little. "My spine is tough. I need to get used to sleeping on hard surfaces anyway. I'll be doing it a lot in arena."

Adrienne glides out of bed and over to the window. The sunlight illuminates her light brown eyes and makes them sparkle like they really do contain stars, reminiscent of her name. Adrienne Starlet. She hates being associated with it though, so I don't mention it. Her hatred of her family name is one of the reasons she likes to stay over at my house as much as possible, ever since we met and became fast friends when we were eleven.

I return to my closet, deciding on a simple black dress. It might be a little long for a Career, but I'm not one to go for the sexy angle. The Capitol will see that I'm serious about winning, not just some model that can manage to spear a dummy every now and then. I pull my long black hair up into its usual ponytail and leave my face mostly bare. I have high cheekbones that make me naturally beautiful, at least according to my father and Adrienne.

Adrienne dresses in the clothes she brought with her last night, a simple white blouse and blue skirt. Her hair falls in natural waves, freckles dotted on her face like the stars she's named after. She catches me looking and I turn away quickly.

We head to the kitchen, where my father is waiting. He's sitting at the rickety table nestling a cup of steaming coffee, his tired eyes staring out the window as the sun rises over a bleak morning.

"Morning, Dad," I greet him, leaning over to kiss his temple. Though workers get a day off on Reaping day, many of the factory workers like him have to make up for it by working late the night before. Even his daughter going into the arena didn't excuse him.

Adrienne and I start making breakfast as we do most mornings that she stays over. She makes the oatmeal over the fire stove while I slice some fruits and make eggs. With all the stress from training for the Games, cooking is one of the ways that Adrienne and I relax. There's something about the creativity combined with the already prescribed recipe that keeps my mind occupied.

"You look so beautiful, Leto," my father says from the table. He smiles tiredly when I turn to look at him, but I can see the twinkle in his eye. He's worked so hard for so many years to support my dream of becoming a victor. The least I can do is repay him for his time and effort by winning so that he'll never have to work again. I know that my training is an investment, not just a hobby like it is for Adrienne. I gave up a chance at a lucrative career as a Peacekeeper, my original passion, to train for the Games instead. It was a risky decision, especially after my mother walked out on us shortly beforehand, but we manage to make it work. This is the day I have to prove that I'm worth all the time and trouble.

And perhaps, once I'm a victor, Adrienne would maybe see me differently… I shake my head to clear my thoughts. That's just a dream, and I can't let thoughts like that distract me from what's really important: the Games.

We eat in silence, but it is a comfortable, familiar kind of silence. I try to take in as much as possible of this morning- our small home, the white walls, the faint scent of grease from my father's time in the factory where he makes Peacekeeper weapons, the sunlight shining through the windows. But this isn't my last day here; that I know for sure. I'll be back in a couple of weeks.

After breakfast, I wash the dishes as Adrienne and my father chat softly. Adrienne will be staying with us until after she says her goodbyes to me in the Justice Building. Then she and my father will meet with her parents to celebrate at the Starlet estate, just like every year. Adrienne speaks of it with poorly veiled disgust, but we always have a great time. I know they will enjoy themselves, even if I'm not there.

Adrienne's disconnect with her status as an elite heiress in Two is baffling to others, but I understand completely. I might be volunteering for the Hunger Games, but wouldn't want to be in the spotlight all the time either, or expected to live my life as a commodity. At least when it happens to me as a victor, I will be an adult. And I'll have my own mansion in Victor's Village as a refuge.

"Are you ready?" my father asks, coming up to pat my shoulder from behind.

"Ready," I respond, drying my hands on a towel.

As the three of us walk to the Reaping, I retreat more into my own mind, rehearsing what I'll say onstage, how to wave to the crowd with a serious smile that will hint at a smirk. Cyprian and I will be the most intimidating out of all the Careers, I'm sure. I can recall all the times he and I were the last ones to leave training, me out of duty and him simply because he can't get enough of slashing the dummies to pieces… or at least that's what everyone says. I have a feeling he tries hard to put on his big bad guy front, and that behind it he might not be very different from me- reasonable and hardworking for sure, but not as bloodthirsty as he would have everyone think. Still, he's certainly worthy of being my district partner.

There have been lots of students that came and went during my time in training. Some of them seemed promising only to fail out months later, others are all talk with no action, some didn't take their training seriously and relied solely on their natural ability. I never doubted for a moment that I would be the chosen tribute through all those years of training. I know how to read people, and I know that none of them were worthy of the Games except me and Cyprian.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

People are starting to head to the Square as I walk home. My feet feel heavy as I traipse down the familiar streets, out of the wealthier area where the Academy resides and into the more middle class part of town. My parent's house comes into view not long after, the innocent, pristine exterior revealing nothing about the internal struggles. It might be my house, but it's never been a home to me.

My parents are dressed in the living room as I walk in. They don't acknowledge my presence and I don't theirs. I dress silently in my room not even sparing the empty, desolate space one last glance before leaving. If I never see it again, then I won't be upset.

When I was a child entering school, I was around strangers for the first time in my life, like anyone else. The people I met always talked so strangles about their families, their friends, their _loved ones_ , and I hadn't understood it. The concept of love was so foreign to me that I thought it was just a fantasy, a daydream to pass the time in an unceasingly cruel world. My parents had never shown me any of the affection and kindness that the other children described. It was during that time I realized just how far my family is from normal.

I check my reflection in a mirror in the kitchen as my parents get ready to leave. They still don't speak to me as they head out the door, swinging it shut behind them. I let out a breath I was holding in. Silence has been their way of dealing with me for a few years now, but I still sometimes worry that they will lash out at me like they used to when I was younger. It never got physical, but the raised voices and clenched fists would send me crying to my room all the same.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My red hair and green eyes are reminiscent of my father, but my sharp bone structure is all my mother's. How can I so resemble people who hate me so much?

I walk to the Reaping alone and try to keep my spirits high. The tribute in my place from last year seemed promising, but Hadrian ultimately ended up disappointing many of his avid supporters here in Two. Will I land myself in a similar situation? How will I live up to the precedent before me, of Hadrian, of Cato, of the victors known for their brutality and lack of mercy? I don't have a problem with killing; it's apart of the Games and apart of life; but I have a lot to live up to in terms of how.

"Cyprian!"

I grin when I hear Homer's voice. He's waving at me from the line to the Square, where everyone aged twelve to eighteen is waiting to get their fingers pricked and their blood taken.

"Hey Homer," I say, more in my natural voice rather than the one I usually use. Homer is the only person in the world that knows me for who I am.

"Nervous?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows in a teasing way.

"A little," I admit, keeping my voice down. "But I'm fine."

"You're going to do great," he encourages me. "When the other Careers see you on that stage, they're going to realize who they're up against." He laughs, sounding elated. You'd think that he was the one to be chosen to volunteer. He was the one who suggested the two of us start training, after all, back when we were children. But Homer never really cared about going into the Games; it was more like a sport for him. And a way to defend himself against his father. Though no one raised a hand in my house, it was different in Homer's. When we met in school, we were the only ones that could understand each other.

I don't try to correct him and point out that many of the other Careers were also likely to look intimidating, as well as some of the outer district tributes. I didn't want him to think I was having second thoughts. I'm not- I'm just worried this might be my last day in District Two.

But Homer clearly doesn't think so. He's in a good mood as we enter the Square, cheerfully joking around with everyone we come across. I stay silent and watchful, letting my troubled expression speak for itself. People usually leave me alone if I put on a slight scowl and let my eyes slip out of focus. As the mayor begins his speech, I'm somewhere else, in one of the arenas from a decade ago, planning where I would make a shelter or the path I would take to hunt for tributes. Old arenas are places I go to often as a sort of refuge. I've memorized all of them in recent decades and many of the other standouts, as well as all the victors. Watching the old Games is so familiar to me that they've become a comfort.

After watching the same old video about the Dark Days and the rebellion, the escort scurries to the stage and plucks the microphone from its stand.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The Square applauds, some people whistling in appreciation. The escort beams, his bright purple wig bouncing as he moves to the girl's ball. "As usual, ladies first!"

The crowd holds its breath. Those involved at the Academy know who the chosen volunteers are, but to others it will be a surprise. A riveting surprise.

"Madison Adakite!"

No sooner has the small girl mounted the stage does the escort ask with thinly veiled excitement, "And would anyone like to volunteer for Madison?"

"I volunteer!"

The expected, confident shout comes from the eighteen-year olds section. Leto walks to the stage with her back perfectly straight and hair pulled into its usual tight ponytail. She grins, revealing her slightly pointed teeth. Her olive skin shines in the bright lights illuminating the stage.

"And what's your name, young lady?"

"My name is Leto Lartson," she announces in a loud, steady voice. "And I will be the victor of the 78th Hunger Games."

The crowd erupts into applause, clearly motivated by her conviction. She raises a fist to the cameras, as if to signify she's battle ready, her eyes set and determined. She's beautiful and elegant as ever, but not without a glimmer of danger just beneath her skin. The bicep that shows on her arm when she raises her fist is enough to tell that to the Capitol.

"And now for the boys!" the escort squeals. Leto stands to the side as he prances to the other glass bowl and snatches up a slip of paper. "Maverick Hyrstone!"

The boy this time is seventeen, and he walks slowly to the stage, like he's trying to draw out the suspense. But when he stands tall onstage, I can see the deep fear in his eyes. Always unfounded, of course. Two has no need for fear about the Games.

"Would anyone like to volunteer-"

"I volunteer!" I project my voice as loudly as possible, hearing it echo off the thick grey walls of the buildings. I step out of the eighteen year olds section and proudly walk to the front. My heart beats faster with every step, but I force a scowl and don't look at the escort as I take the microphone from his hand. "I'm Cyprian Clay, and I will win by any means necessary!"

The audience always loves a good declaration of supremacy. The Square cheers for me with all their might, but I try not to make eye contact with anyone in case they see through me. I stare directly at the camera and continue to scowl, letting them know I mean business.

"Wonderful!" the escort claps excitedly. "Now shake hands, you two! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I'm surprised when I turn to see Leto frowning at me when I turn to face her. My mask flickers for a moment, wondering if maybe she saw the glimmering uncertainty underneath, but she simply grasps my hand and looks away.

The Peacekeepers lead us back into the Justice Building, Leto marching almost identical in pace and style to them. "You're not supposed to volunteer until the escort finishes the question," she tells me, still frowning a little.

"I was eager," I say with a shrug.

"Still, show some respect."

Before I can answer, the Peacekeepers open a door to our right and lead me inside. Successfully deposited, I wait for whoever will come to see me. I know Homer will, but I'm not about anyone else. My parents didn't start treating me any differently after I was chosen for the Games, or even acknowledged it at all, so i don't know what I should expect.

Homer is the first one in, of course, all smiles and slaps on the back and cheerful praises. "You really looked so good up there," he says, beaming. "Just like Cato when he volunteered. The Capitol will see that you're victor material right from the start."

"All District Two males go for the tough guy look," I say. "Cato, Hadrian from last year, his brother Cassius… they don't all win."

"And yet they're all loved," Homer says with a smile. "And you have what it takes to be a victor in your own right, regardless of what anyone thinks of you."

I'm not so sure, but I hug him nonetheless and tell him to wait for me when I'm in the arena. I'll come back one way or another.

A few minutes pass after he leaves, and another visitor arrives- one I didn't really expect.

"You did great, Cyprian," Garrison says, his bushy gray eyebrows raising in approval. "Just like I taught you. Do you remember the rest?"

"Yes," I say. More than anything, I remember the words he said to me when I was fifteen. After being ranked low in the training exams for so long, I was wondering if I should quit altogether and try some other career. But when I suggested it to Garrison, he told me that the Games were one the only way to escape my situation. I don't know how he ascertained that my family wasn't exactly one filled with love, but from that moment I realized that if I went to the Games, whether I won or not, I would never have to see my parents or step foot in that house again.

"Why did you choose me?"

Garrison looks at me with shock, like the answer is obvious. "Choose you for the Games?"

I nod.

"Because you were the best candidate, of course! What kind of question is that?"

"But I never scored high on the exams," I say stubbornly, feeling my heartbeat increase at defying him like this. "I wa never even in the top five."

Garrison throws his head back in laughter and I bristle.

"Relax, relax," he says, reaching out to touch my shoulder. "Cyprian, I always scored you low so that you would be more motivated for the next exam. Everyone else knew that! How else could you always do so well and score so low?"

My head spins as I sit there, dumbfounded. "What? Why would you do that?"

"I just told you," Garrison says with a grin. "Try to keep up, Cyprian. You don't want to have the image of another dull-headed Two tribute, do you?"

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

I'm only expecting two visitors- my father and Adrienne, and I sincerely hope that my mother doesn't try to pull something today. She's tried visiting me at the Academy before, but I always manage to get the other trainees to kick her out before I have to see her. I have no sympathy for the woman who left my father and I to fend for ourselves.

Dad and Adrienne come together, the family that I actually do love. My father keeps smiling the entire time he's in the room, repeatedly telling me how proud of me he is and how glad he is to have me as a daughter.

"You've grown into such a beautiful young woman," he says, taking my hand and squeezing it. "A beautiful, patriotic, brave woman. Soon you won't just be my daughter anymore, you'll be Panem's daughter!"

I chuckle and return his grin. "Thanks, Dad. But I'll always be yours."

"What about me?" Adrienne fake whines, reaching to hug me. I laugh and squeeze her tight.

"I'll always be your friend," I tell her. She grins and pulls out a small silver object that I recognize immediately.

"The Starlet logo?" I say in confusion.

"It's a broach," she replies, pinning the silver star onto my black dress. "To wear in the arena."

I touch the broach on my chest and smile at her. "Thank you. I love it."

The air is still for perhaps a moment too long, but then Adrienne leans back up and says, "Learn some good Capitol recipes while you're gone. We can try them at home."

I laugh and agree to it, but my heart hurts a little. It's a strange feeling that I'm not used to. I can get angry or frustrated sometimes, like when Cyprian volunteered too soon, a choice that simply rubbed me the wrong way, but I don't often feel truly upset. Leaving your loved ones behind, even if just for a few weeks, is more difficult than I thought.

After they say goodbye, I wait patiently for the Peacekeepers to come and take me to the train station. Luckily, my mother doesn't arrive and the white suits march into the room a few minutes later. Cyprian didn't have a lot of visitors either, then. I nod to them respectfully, keeping my shoulder high and straight. I may not have followed my dream of being a Peacekeeper, but I'm still a servant to my country- just in a different way. Tributes are the knots that keep together the districts with the Capitol and each other, after all.

* * *

 **Leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks!**


	5. D3 Reaping: Dreaming Away Your Life

**Hey guys! I hope you enjoy District Three. The tribute list is finally posted as well! A few people who only submitted once didn't have their tributes chosen, which I'm very sorry about. I did my best!**

 **Thanks so much to the creators of these tributes, Closet and flowercrowns!**

* * *

 _"Dreaming away your life…"_

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

I'm sitting on the floor in the kitchen when Sedrick finds me, scribbling on my arm like I used to when I was a child. Sedrick raises an eyebrow and says, "Mom's not going to like that."

I just hum and continue to doodle a flower on my wrist. There are too few in District Three, at least in my opinion.

Sedrick sighs and leaves the room, I assume to finish preparing for the Reaping. I feel my eyes go slightly out of focus as I finish the pretty flower. There won't be time for a shower in our rickety bathroom before the ceremony, so Mom will most definitely be angry. When I was a kid, she managed to kick the habit out, but it returns when I feel stressed or upset. Usually when I start to feel like I do now, when my eyes can't see what's in front of me and the world seems a blurry painting of what it was just an hour ago. At least my drawing skills have improved since I was a kid, thanks to all of my practice at the station.

I press the point of the pen a little into my skin until it hurts just a bit, then let up. The sensation brings me back to earth a little so that I can stand and wander back to my bedroom. Our apartment is small, but after my grandfather died, I moved into his old room. Now Sedrick sleeps in our old one, with our mother in the largest room. Then there's only the tiny kitchen, the even smaller bathroom, and a decently sized sitting area which displays the television. As I mindlessly get dressed for the Reaping, I recall the past Hunger Games that my family was forced to watch on that television. Last year, when one of our tributes was killed at the bloodbath and the other torn apart by a pack of rabid dogs. I shudder I remember it, and I feel myself slipping back into the blurry world, where it's safe. I pull my blouse over my unruly curls and tuck it into my black pants. The outfit isn't much, but it's the most formal thing I have.

Once I'm dressed, I head out into the sitting room again, where my mother and Sedrick are waiting. She frowns when she sees me, grabbing my arm and huffing disapproval.

"Caillou… what have I always told you…" But her tone doesn't contain any malice. Maybe she realizes I'm just doing anything I can to stay sane today.

"Sorry," I say quietly, but smile at her like I always do. She returns it, somewhat tiredly. I know she fears the Reapings just as much as I do. We both learned it years ago, watching Sedrick stand in the Square year after year.

She reaches up to my curls and pulls them back a little, tying them with a blue ribbon. She has to tie it into a double knot to keep them from slipping out, and it hurts my head a little, but I don't complain. There's not much else one can do with such a messy head of hair.

I gaze into her eyes when she's finished, the same deep brown color as mine. Sedrick and I also inherited her darker skin, though ours is a little lighter due to our father's genes. He left before I was born, but Sedrick says he remembers him as a mostly absent, but kind man.

"You've grown into such a beautiful young lady," my mother says, almost sounding sentimental, which isn't very typical for her. As a detective for the District Three justice force, she doesn't have a lot of room for pesky emotions.

"Thanks, Mom."

"Your grandfather would be so proud."

At the mention of my grandfather, I feel my chest tighten a little. I still see his kind eyes and hear laughter like the tinkling of a bell in my dreams.

"He would want us to be on time to the Reaping."

Mom turns to roll her eyes at Sedrick, but I giggle a little. I bounce past him and out the door, winkling at him. He and our mother follow me down the stairs and we emerge onto the streets of District Three. The way is currently packed with people heading to the Reaping, but unlike usual, the air is completely still and silent. The only hum of electricity I can hear is the one above us that controls the power lines; but there's no distant hum of an experiment being tested, flickering of lights on the horizon just past the electric fence. Not today. All the bustle and liveliness is gone from the District, and people walk to the Square like they're marching to an execution.

"Caillou!"

The gentle sound of my own name pulls me from my wandering thoughts. My eyes focus again and spot Jessica moving from across the street. She smiles at me, pale face full of freckles lighting up with her usual bubbliness.

I match her enthusiasm and reach over to hug her. My closest friend, even though we talk less nowadays than when we were younger due to school and work, we've known each other since our primary school days. Then, I was just a spacey little girl who drew all over everything and asked too many questions, and she was the bright, cheerful redhead that eventually spread her infectious spirit to me.

"Where were you last night?" she asks, brown eyes wide as she moves a strand of red hair away from her face. "I tried visiting you, but none of you were home."

"We were working," I say with a smile. It's mostly forced, but my positive exterior has been cultivated carefully in the past decade, owing to the influence of my grandfather and Jessica herself. It's not a lie though- Sedrick did indeed have to work late at the factory, and my mother and I were down at the station until midnight… but we weren't working.

The station likes to throw together a little party for us the night before the Reaping, and with my mother's reputation as a detective, she has to attend. I stayed as long as I could with the adults, laughing politely and matching their personalities, but eventually locked myself into a holding room and practiced mimicking their voices. Mimicry was the main reason I was employed by the station anyway, besides my drawing skills. The sounds of the head detectives deep voice echoed off the slick walls of the holding room until even I became convinced that he was really there, and not just my own chameleon vocal chords.

"Sorry, Jessica," I say. "We should do something tonight instead."

"Definitely!" she chirps, beaming brightly. She looks ahead, where my family has surpassed us, Sedrick glancing back every now and then to see if we're following.

"We should keep up," I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. Her cheeks stain a slight pink, which I don't miss. Maybe I should show Jessica my new skill in mimicking the head detective, but she's never met him before. I feel myself sigh in my chest. Despite our emotional closeness, I can't deny we've drifted apart in recent years. I want to change that.

As we start heading to the Square, I feel myself start to disconnect from myself again, the fear that has permeated my life since my grandfather died in the mysterious incident in the factory, and I started taking out tesserae to help feed our remaining family. Everytime I stood in the Justice Building, signing my name to the sheet that would increase my odds of being slaughtered by a brutish Career, I had to numb myself to it. How can you reconcile helping your family eat with your own possible execution?

But every Reaping, the fear returns.

 _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_

I usually don't have time to sleep late anymore, but today is an exception, as terrible as it makes me feel. As I slowly blink my eyes open, I remember when I lay here in my bed motionless, thoughts racing as I wondered what would happen today. When I was younger, I thought the Reapings would get easier with age, but now I know better. Even without tesserae, the increasing chance of being picked is enough to keep me tossing and turning so much that it cancels out any extra hours of shut-eye I get in the morning.

I can hear my parents in the kitchen as I stand and head down the hallway to the bathroom, rubbing at my eyes. The rickety, stained walls of the apartment are lined with the rare pictures that we're able to take time to time. Due to living in District Three, we have access to a camera more than other districts. Me as a child in elementary school, me playing with my friends, me trying to smile naturally as I stand beside my coworkers at the factory. I stare at them as I pass, a museum of my own short life. Dictated by the Capitol, and possibly taken away from me as well.

I shake the thought away. There are thousands of kids in District Three, and no one I know has ever been Reaped. It's entirely random. There's no reason to assume I'll be picked.

After finishing in the bathroom, I head to the kitchen where my family is waiting. They don't mention the obvious gloom hanging over everything- not just our apartment but permeating from outside; I can smell it in the factories that aren't running, the silence in the air that indicates no machinery working in the distance. It sounds like fear, like death.

"How are you feeling today, honey?" my mother asks me with a warm smile, placing a plate of scrambled eggs.

It's a question she asks me everyday before I leave for school, and after our shifts at the factory every night, exhausted and smelling of electricity. But the eggs are a surprise- a delicacy in a district that very rarely sees fresh produce or meat. Most of our food is fake or dried, sent to us dehydrated in packages from faraway districts. The fruits that you can find are old and rotten, and the same can be said for most "fresh" animal products.

"I'm fine," I say, which isn't a lie. I might be afraid, but I can't imagine anyone in Three that isn't afraid.

I try to savor my eggs as slowly as I can, knowing they must have cost my parents a fortune, but they taste so good I down in them all in five minutes. It's really a shame that the Reaping is the reason I'm eating good food, getting a day off work, sleeping in… but I might as well enjoy it. It's not like I can change it.

I realize I must have slept in later than I thought when my father suggests we head out. My heart rates spikes at the suggestion, but I try not to let it show. They wait for me as I get dressed in my typical Reaping outfit: my black work pants with the only nice shirt I own. It's been the one I've worn at every Reaping. In fact, my first Reaping was one of the first times I wore these pants, the slacks that I've worn every day since, spending hours and days in the factory assembly lines making electric parts.

My father holds my hand as we walk down the street, nodding to almost every person we pass. As a schoolteacher, he knows just about everyone in the district and their children, especially with how long he's been doing it. Even if he isn't paid much, teachers are respected in District Three. When I was a child, I wanted to make him proud by being the best student in class, but I ended up in the factories like almost every person in the District. Looking back, it was inevitable- we've never been well off, and to go to the higher classes, I would have to quit my job at the factory and we would starve in weeks. No, these last few years of school will be my final ones.

The Square is packed, and I try to avoid looking at the Peacekeepers the best I can. In line to get his finger pricked is my best friend Delta, who waves when he sees me, huge smile on his face. I feel myself reciprocating as my muscles loosen. I always feel tense when Peacekeepers are around, but Delta is the one person in the world who can help me unwind a little bit.

"Hey, Dylan!" he says cheerfully as we clap hands. "It's time to party!"

"You have to stop saying things like that," I whisper, but feel my smile grow bigger.

Delta's spirit hasn't been completely crushed- yet. He does well enough in school that he hasn't had to start working in the factories- yet. His family thinks he'll make it into the higher classes and make a livable wage for himself, but I've seen too many people my age put their faith into school only to end up working beside me in the assembly line.

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood a little bit," he says, sniggering. "Everyone is acting like we're headed to a funeral."

"Well…"

I don't say what I'm thinking, but he must be thinking it himself.

We diverge paths when we reach the interior of the Square. Delta is only fifteen, even though we're in the same grade in school. I stand alone in the sixteen-year old section, feeling my heart beat faster and faster with each passing minute. I try to remember Delta's lighthearted smile and my parents' kind eyes as they watched me enter the Square. Truly, I'm just being ridiculous. My name is only in the bowl five times out of thousands of slips, of kids who have to take tesserae and boys older than me. The odds are in my favor.

"Happy Hunger Games!"

The escort takes over after the film from the Capitol is finished. Her bright pink hair is sickening to look at.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Somehow I feel more calm than I have in days. Now that I'm here, I know my name won't be called. It's going to be just like every other year, when I stand paralyzed with fear only to realize I was being unreasonable.

The escort titters over to the girl's bowl, where she teases for a minute before picking a slip out of the glass. I wonder for a moment if the girl will be anyone I know, though I don't know many girls. Then the name comes:

"Calliou Wight!"

The escort fumbles a little on the pronunciation of the first name, and I don't recognize it at first. It's a bit of a strange name for Three, and the girl who mounts the stage looks strange as well- a dark complexion with large curls of black hair that frame her face, barely held back in a ponytail- but I do recall her face. Her grandfather died in an accident at the same factory I work at; some mysterious accident that the floor managers tried to keep quiet. Everyone knew something happened, though, and the Wights were forced to keep silent and not ask any questions.

She smiles uneasily as she faces the escort. As she turns to the audience, the smile fades almost immediately and is replaced by a blank look in her eyes as she reaches up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. This wouldn't be the first time tributes cried at the Reaping, but she manages to keep it together in the end, placing her hand back at her side.

"And now for the boys!" the escort chortles once she's had her fill of Caillou. She rpances to the boy's bowl and I don't get a moment to worry about Delta before she's reading the slip.

"Dylan Bronze!"  
My mind suddenly goes blank. Someone nudges me in the back and I realize I've been standing here, frozen for at least a minute. A pair of Peacekeepers are coming toward me in the aisle, following the line of everyone's eyes as they look towards me.

My feet start to move before they can reach me, and I unsteadily make my way up to the stage. With everyone's eyes fixed on me, I feel like I can't breathe. I've never had trouble in front of crowds before, but this time I feel like I'm not really here, like my body is standing onstage but I'm still in the crowd, watching myself shakily smile to the cameras.

"Wonderful!" the escort beams. "Now shake hands, you two!"

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

The fear hasn't just returned, it's come true. All those years of standing in the crowd with my mother, watching as Sedrick stood proud and alone in the middle of the Square during the Reapings. All the years I've done it myself. Every time I signed up for tesserae, silencing any thoughts in the back of my head about increasing my chances of being Reaped.

My mother bursts through the door like a madwoman, immediately rushing forward to embrace me. I can see Sedrick hanging behind by the door. When she pulls away, she grabs my face with both hands and looks deep into my eyes.

"Caillou, my love- remember everything that I taught you; everything that you learned at the station. Drawing, impressions… you remember the criminal interviews that we've watched together, don't you? You remember how to tell if a person is lying or if they're uncomfortable?"

"Yes, I remember," I say, reaching up to place a hand over one of hers. "You're a great detective, Detective Driise."

She half-smiles, pulling me in for another hug. I can hear her cursing beside my ear- cursing the Capitol, cursing me for taking out tesserae, herself for letting me.

"We should have just asked the station to give you a raise. God knows you deserve it."

"A raise?" Sedrick asks, peeking out from behind her. "She barely does anything."

I grin and run over to Sedrick, practically throwing myself on top of him. It's only when I pull back that I realize he's started to cry. I freeze, unsure of what to do. I don't think I've ever seen him cry, and certainly not so hard.

"I believe in you, Caillou," he tells me, voice shaking as he continues to hold me tight. "I've always believed in you, just like grandfather did."

I feel my own eyes start to prick with tears, recalling when we were children and I would be stuck to Sedrick's hip, so querulous about the world and determined to learn everything I can. After Sedrick started working at the factory when he turned twelve, his eyes turned darker, his voice grew softer and rougher, his gait was slower. He no longer answered my questions with the same feigned long-wearied tone, but instead refused altogether or became genuinely angry with me.

"It's hard to let you go," he says tearfully, "but I'll see you again."

I don't doubt that I will.

After they leave, I sit in silence on the red velvet couch, running my hand absentmindedly over the soft material. As I stare at my reflection in a gold frame of a map of Panem, I feel my the pressure on my hair suddenly come loose. I reach back and grab the hair ribbon before it falls to the ground. It's not broken, just untied. I hold it close to my chest and start to curl inward on myself when I hear the commotion outside.

"Let me see her!"

I immediately recognize Jessica's voice, the explosive, whirlwind tone she uses only when someone is about to see the not-so-bubbly side of her.

"No one of Reaping age and the same gender is allowed in without a chaperone," I hear a deep male voice reply.

"I want to see Caillou! Caillou!"

"Jessica!" I yell back, hearing her answering sob as the Peacekeepers drag her away. What kind of new rule is that? There was no age or gender restriction on tribute visits before, at least not that I know of.

I put my head in between my knees and trace one of my drawings on my arm, feeling silent tears roll down my face. I know this won't be my last day in Three. I know I'll hear Jessica's voice again.

 _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_

I'm still completely shocked as I sit motionlessly in my waiting room. The morning sun shines through the lone window, directly into my eyes, but I can't even blink. I may have tried to convince myself that I wouldn't be picked, but I was wrong. Just like how everyone is wrong about not ending up in the factory, just like how my parents were wrong for not signing me up for tesserae. What's the use in trying to reduce my chances, if this was inevitable? I knew all along in the back of my mind that this would happen- every night I lay awake wondering how my name would sound coming out of the escort's mouth, what an axe would look like coming down on my head. And yet I convinced myself otherwise, just like everyone else does.

A gust of air blows through the room as my parents hurry through the door. "Dylan!" my mother cries out desperately, hugging me as close to her chest as she can. "Not my baby, not my baby!"

I stay silent, but I feel the numbness slowly fade away and reality start to set in. Tears well up in my eyes and I squeeze her tightly.

"Dylan, remember everything that they teach you in training," my father says seriously, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I look up at him and see his eyes more serious than ever. The only time I've ever seen him look at someone like that is during school, when he bent over a student's desk and asked them if they were paying attention.

"I will, Dad," I sniffle. "I promise."

"You're such a smart boy," he says, pulling me closer until the three of us are huddled together. "You might be the smartest kid from Three in years. You can do this if you put your mind into it. You can do that, can't you, Dylan?"  
I nod, blinking back tears. I don't mention that District Three hasn't had a victor for nearly fifteen years. No matter how much I practice in training, will it really make a difference?  
My father pulls back and looks down to pull his wedding ring off of his finger. He offers it to me, eyes imploring. "Bring this back to me, okay?"

I take the ring and slide it onto my own finger. The simple silver band is probably the most expensive thing he owns. My hand shakes as I lift it into the sunlight to reflect it on the ring.

"We both love you so much," my mother cries.

We all stay in a hug until the Peacekeepers came to drag them away. After they're gone, I feel the tears start to come faster, cupping the ring in my palms. My black hair falls into my face as I lean down over it, as if trying to curl in on myself.

"Dylan!"

My head pops up at the sound of Delta's voice. I can hear him struggling outside the door, cursing at the Peacekeepers.

"Let him in!" I shout, my voice wavering. No one answers, but the noise dies down as they take him away. I can't even see my best friend before I'm shipped like a cattle to the Capitol.

I might never see him again.


	6. D4 Reaping: Strange Weather

**Thanks so much to the creators of these characters, Tigeroutsider and paperairline!**

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 _"I can't do nothing about the strange weather..."_

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M_

The smell of salt is on the air, the calming sound of waves and seagulls reaching my ears. But there's something missing- the usual shouts that filled the air from fisherman and the sounds of sails being unfurled, boats crashing against the water. There will be no fresh fish sold at the markets today, no fisherman dragging their nets of fish and clams onto the beach.

It's the perfect morning for a fight on the beach. Tovin slides his sword along the sand, gripping it tightly and bringing it up to his chest and smirking at me.

"Bring it on!" he yells, lunging towards me.

I deflect his blow and knock into him with my shoulder, pushing him away. He stumbles but manages to stay on his feet, his dull blade glinting in the light. I grin as I advance on him, swinging my sword in broad arcs as I try to hit him. Each slash cuts through the air with a loud _swoosh_ , gaining speed with each swing. Tovin tries to sidestep each stroke, but I tower over him, forcing my blade to collide with his over and over again. With each loud clang, he stumbles more until he flounders onto the sand, gasping as I bring my sword down onto his chest. It stops just an inch above his thinly clad chest.

I grin and shake my hair out of my face, standing back up. "When are you going to show me what you really got?"

Tovin huffs and accepts the hand I extend to him. He brushes the sand off his legs, shaking it out of his eyes. "I'm telling you, there's a reason you were chosen as the volunteer, Faroud."

I laugh and lean the blade of my sword against my shoulder. I push my hair back and scan my eyes over the horizon. The sun is starting to climb higher in the sky, gently peeking out from behind the clouds. It will be a clear, cool day.

"We need to get back," Tovin says, reaching down for his own sword. "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready my entire life," I announce, pointing my blade to the sky. "Capitol, here I come!"

Tovin just laughs at me. He's been my friend for years and years. He's used to me by now.

I grab my discarded tank top from the sand and shake it out a little before pulling it over my head. I try to wipe if off the best I can, but I know my mother won't let me go to the Reaping in this outfit. I'll need to go back home for a shower and a change.

We triapse back to our neighborhood, watching as the District slowly starts to come to life. We don't live on the wealthier side of Four, but this is my home, the only one I've ever known. Despite how much I want to live in the Victor's Village with the other legendary victors of Four, I know I'll never be able to put all the memories i've made here behind me forever. Tovin's house, which has always been one strong gust of wind away from falling over, the alleyways that we and our other friends used to chase each other through with our fake weapons just after joining the Academy.

I drop Tovin off at his house and continue on to mine, a small wooden house with peeling gray paint. The stairs creak under my weight as I slowly climb up them, the porch groaning when I stop to stare at the open sea again, barely visible from this point. I smile to myself and push open the door. It's unlocked as usual, and I can hear the crackly sound of our old television playing in the sitting room. I walk over to see my mother sitting in her recliner, watching as Caesar Flickerman cheerfully narrates the events of last year's Games. I snort as I watch Nikki's throat be pierced by the little Eight kid's arrow, her body flailing onto the sand. My mother turns to me at the sound. I can see her frowning at me slightly.

"Where were you?" she asks, voice gravely from disuse all morning.

"Just playing around with Tovin," I say, bounding up the stairs to my bedroom. "I know I need to shower, so don't worry about it!"

She doesn't answer, but I recognize the look she had in her eyes when she frowned at me. It was the same expression she gave me when I was accepted into the Academy, the one she had when I told her I dropped out of school, when she saw my first tattoo, and my second, and my third, and my fourth… and especially when the Academy announced I was the chosen volunteer for this year's Hunger Games. I know she doesn't quite approve of my life choices, even if she won't tell me straight up. It's just because she worries about me- worries that I'll lose and never come home, or that I won't like being hounded by the Capitol for the rest of my life. And hel, maybe I won't, but it's better than being a poor fisherman for the rest of my life. At least training is fun.

I shower under the hot water that manages to trickle out of the rusty spout in our bathroom, then get dressed in my best outfit, the same one I wore to the Academy's proclamation of volunteers. It's a simple black shirt and pants, but it squeezes against my chest and arms like they're trying to burst free. The tattoos on my arms barely peek out, so I roll up the sleeves so they're more visible. I leave my brown hair hanging free to my shoulders, but comb it so that it doesn't look completely unpresentable. The Capitol will love my rugged look, and especially how effortlessly I pull it off, unlike some of those other Careers who try too hard.

I have these Games in the bag.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

Reggie watches me with a lopsided smile on his face, leaning on the plush white couch beside my closet. He's still a little hungover from last night, but he manages to keep his eyes somewhat focused as I walk back and forth past him, partly to let out some access energy, partly to actually show him my Reaping outfit.

"You look great, babe," he says, sounding mostly coherent. "Like a princess."

I smirk and bend down to adjust one of my pink high heels. The dress is golden, to accentuate my long blonde hair and tanned skin, but some pink never hurts when it comes to the Capitol.

"Are you saying I'm not actually a princess?"

"Don't be like that," he says, turning away even though he knows that I'm joking. "It's so bright outside…"

I roll my eyes and start piling on jewelry from my dresser. I have no shortage over the years of my parents spoiling me, but I know that they will be nothing like the ones that I will be adorned with in the Capitol. Once completely bejeweled, I join Reggie at the window and stare outside. He wasn't completely wrong- the sun is quite bright today, but no more than a usual sunny day in Four. If it wasn't Reaping day, all the fisherman would be out on the beach applying sunscreen and donning their wide-brimmed hats. But as it is, the beachfront is silent and still aside from the gently rolling waves.

"I hope my dress won't blind anyone," I say, turning in circles to see the way my glittery dress sparkles in the light .

Reggies snorts at that, sprawled over the couch. I glance at the mess that he left on my nightstand, yesterday's clothes, deodorant, and empty bottles that we deposited here last night. Normally the servants would clean it after we left, but they have the day off for the Reaping. But I don't mind the mess. Sometimes it's nice to be a little chaotic when you're surrounded by perfection all the time. That's what the party last night was about, what they're always about- everyone gathering together to get a reprieve from it all.

"We should get going," I say, smacking Reggie on the arm. I drank just as much as him last night, but I can hold my liquor, and that means I have to be the responsible one. "Gaia will be waiting for me."

At the mention of my best friend, Reggie grins again, his eyes sliding out of focus for a moment. "I don't know if Gaia will be there; she seemed sick last night. Did you not see it?" he laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world.

"What do you mean?" I snap. "Everyone has to go to the Reaping."

"I don't know, she was pretty bad. Throwing up and everything."

I ignore the twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach as I pull him onto his feet. "She's fine. Just get dressed, for god's sake."

My parents are waiting for us downstairs, my father in his perfectly pressed suit and my mother in a tightly-fitted pink dress, golden hair curled in long waves. Above the archway leading into the kitchen is the same framed picture of my older sister that's been there my entire life, though she's younger in it than I am now. It's the way that I've become acquainted with the face of someone I've never and will never meet.

"There's the best couple in Four," my mother says with a smile and a glint in her eye, hurrying toward me with a plate of waffles in her hand. The whipped cream on top spelling my name _Marlowe_ , surrounded with sticky syrup.

"Whoa, thanks Mrs. Bahari!" Reggies says excitedly. I let him take the plate and rush to sit at the table, and my parents don't seem to mind either. I'm not hungry anyway after seeing that picture again, just as I do every morning coming down those stairs.

"How are you feeling?" my father asks, glancing at Reggie as he chows down on the breakfast. I know what he's getting at, and that he wishes Reggie were not here so we could talk, but I simply stand up straight and smile brightly.

"I feel great, Daddy," I say, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He smiles, crow's feet appearing in the corners of his eyes. Wrinkles that have etched into his face after years of building his highly successful business making hooks and metal parts of fishing boats. Those wrinkles are the reason I can wear diamond necklaces around my neck; live in a house with three floors and a high-ceilinged kitchen.

He nods to me and lets me sit next to Reggie at the table. I try not to seem too excited and fidgety, but I wasn't lying when I said I feel great. Today is my day, the day that the Capitol will finally see me for the first time, the most beautiful Career to enter the arena in decades. Today is the day I finally get to leave behind my parents' concerned eyes when they notice me spending more time in my room than usual, or all of it out on the street with a group of people I only met a few days before. Away from everything in this place that makes me want to lose my mind.

No one will think I'm crazy in the Capitol- I'll just be another Career with an vicious temperament. The only doctors allowed near me will be ones helping patch up my injuries after I finish off the runner-up.

After Reggie is finished scarfing down my breakfast, we all head out to the Reaping. The Square in Four is a tiny thing inland, while most residents live and work near the shore, so the walk is long and hot every year. The streets are packed with rambunctious children and complaining parents who obviously wish to spend their day off lounging in the shade instead of standing in a brightly lit town square packed with people. I can't say I blame them. The Capitol really tries to portray Four as an idyllic fishers village that just happens to produce highly qualified, strong, older tributes each year due to our harsh but simple living conditions.

Four might not be as rich as One and Two, but I sure am.

Reggie and I part ways when we reach the Square, and I keep my eye out for Gaia. Even if she's really sick, she probably will still be here. No one can miss a Reaping unless they're on their deathbed, even in fisher's paradise. Just as I thought, I find her waiting in the eighteen-year old's section, her yellow hair shining in the bright sunlight. The crowd parts to let me through as I try to reach her. Several girls wave at me and try to stop me to talk, but I gesture for them to move along. Instead some of them simply call after me.

"I had a great time last night, Marlowe."

"Awesome party, Bahari! I'll see you after the Games!"

Most of them are just faces that I recognize in passing, maybe a few names. All the times that we've gotten drunk and done something stupid together doesn't make us close, even if they seem to think it does. Despite always being surrounded by people, Gaia is one of the only ones that I trust, if not _the_ only one.

"Hey, Marlowe," she greets me with a small smile, face gaunt and gray.

"How are you doing?" I ask right away. It's an innocuous enough question that anyone listening in won't find it suspicious.

"I'm fine," she says. "I drank a little too much last night… but I'm fine."

The look in her eyes says something different, but she's not trying to lie to me, just disinterest prying ears. It's easy for me to discern the truth, just like she might be the only person to understand why I had to throw a party last night in the first place. Gaia's strange tendencies to overeat and undereat for undetermined periods of time ended up placing her in the same predicament as me. Each dragged to the doctor's office every other month to try to figure out what was wrong with us, why were we acting so strangely, why can't we just stop, we struck up a fast friendship. And we both were given one of the same solutions- funnel the self-destructive tendencies into something constructive, like training for the Hunger Games.

We were thirteen when we started training. Pretty old compared to the other new recruits, but despite the fact that it was only supposed to be a productive hobby, I quickly rose to the top of the class. My own tendencies aren't as "self-harmful" as Gaia's, but slashing a dummy to pieces is a lot more acceptable than lashing out at my parents, or by getting as violently drunk as possible and throwing myself at any guy in near proximity. Or having to explain myself to Reggie later, or "talk it through" with my parents.

"Words, not fists," the doctor told me once. I snort and wonder if words will help me win the Games and become the richest victor in Four.

The same video plays on the giant screen as it does every year. The victors shift in boredom onstage where they're standing, and I can see sweat beading their brows under the intense lighting combined with the humidity. I smirk when I see The Andersons sharing pitiful glances with each other, perhaps remembering last year when their daughter volunteered, only to be choke to death on her own blood, seconds away from victory. Or maybe four years before that when their son did the same thing.

Finally the escort steps up to the microphone, applauding the video with vigor. "Happy Hunger Games!" she squeals. "Are you all as excited as me?"

The crowd mumbles vaguely at first, but at encouragement from the mayor, a few people cheer louder. I can hear Faroud hollering from the boy's section and roll my eyes.

"I hope so!" the escort's grin is freakishly pale and shiny. "Ladies first!"

I feel anxiety twist in my chest, but I force myself not to let it show and keep smiling. My diamond necklace feels heavy and hot on my neck like a noose.

The escort's spidery fingers reach into the glass bowl and pluck a short paper slip, her eyes wide as she reads the name with exaggerated lips. "Coral Moray!"

The terrified, sweaty girl that ascends the stairs seems to have forgotten that someone will definitely volunteer for her, unless she think the Academy has given up after last year's failure. The escort places a pale hand on her shoulder and cheerfully shouts into the microphone:

"Would anyone like to volunteer to this fine young lady!"

"I volunteer!" I sing-song into the still air, prancing away from Gaia and putting on my dazzling smile. One can never start serving the Capitol flirtation too soon, even though my heart is racing inside my chest. I sashay up the stairs and over to the mic, waving my fingers at the Reaped girl as she returns to her section.

"Hello, dear! What's your name?"

"My name is Marlowe Bahari!" I wink at the camera, wiggling my fingers again at them. "I'm the golden girl of District Four, and I'm going to win the 78th Hunger Games!"

The Square cheers louder for me than they did for the escort, but I can sense their fatigue. Up on the stage, the heat is almost unbearable. I can feel some of my makeup starting to melt away, but I keep my smile plastered to my face. I hope the escort will simply get a move on and let Faroud volunteer so I can sit in the air conditioning.

"Mackerel Tang!"

"I volunteer!" Faroud's voice immediately smooths over the crowd. I roll my eyes as he stomps past the little boy that's already making his way up the alley.

The escort is clearly a little uncomfortable with having an early volunteer, even though they happen occasionally. Her smile wavers a little as she hands the mic over to Faroud, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He lumbers to the side of the stage and yells out to the crowd, "Is everyone ready to see me rip out some throats!"

The audience erupts into cheers, and Faroud pumps his fist in the air as he yells in agreement, long hair blowing in the wind. "That's right! I'm Faroud Pistris-" he points directly to the camera. "And you'll see me soon in the Capitol."

Even the escort applauds as he comes back to us and extends his hand to me. I try not to seem annoyed and instead smile dumbly as I gently take it. The crowd roars as the escort leads us into the Justice Building.

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M_

My mother and Tovin come to visit at the same time, Tovin grinning from ear to ear, and my mother trying and failing to seem disappointed.

"I really wish you would have reconsidered the trainers' suggestions, Faroud," she says with a poorly disguised proud smile.

"It wasn't a suggestion, Mom. I was the chosen volunteer."

"You could have said no."

"I don't want to do this right now," I say with a dismissive wave of the hand. Despite her objections, I can tell she's just ribbing me. The dimple in the corner of her mouth gives it away, as does the necklace that she hands me.

"What is this?" I ask, turning over the charm in my hands. It's a simple flat metal circle with something design pressed in.

"It's my fingerprint," she says. "I had our neighbor make it for me."

I'm unable to stop my grin as I place it around my neck and lean in for a hug. "Thanks, Mom."

Tovin laughs as he claps me on the back. "Can you believe that Tang kid was Reaped? Can you remember when we used to hide his lunch from him at school? And then he was always so mad at us for some reason!"

"What are the odds," I say, chortling. "He must be relieved I was there to volunteer for his whiny ass."

"He should thank you," Tovin laughs, wiping a tear from his eye. "I'll get him to do it. When the camera crews come to interview us for the final eight, I'll make sure they film him thanking you. It'll be so hilarious."

"Is that a promise?" I ask. "Don't say anything you're not going to actually do."

"I promise, man," Tovin shakes his head, grabbing my hand as if to swear it to me. "As long as you promise that you'll win."

"Of course I will," I say with a light laugh, but I can hear the genuine worry behind his words. "Not you, too! You don't think I have what it takes?"

"I do!" Tovin says defensively. "Just… come back in the right way, Faroud."

"You just want a piece of my fortune," I say jokingly. "You're not the one that should be getting cold feet, anyway."

Tovin rolls his eyes, but my mother reaches down for another hug. "I love you, Faroud. Remember that when you're far away."

"I would never forget you," I say seriously. As she messes with the necklace on my chest, I mouth over her shoulder to Tovin. _Take care of her._

He nods, and the realization hits me for a moment that I won't be able to see them for another three weeks at best. But I'll survive just fine- I can survive anything.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

My parents are the first to visit me.

In this suffocating room with glittering gold walls, lined with huge prized fish and seashells, the heat is almost even more unbearable. But it reaches its breaking point when they come.

"Hello, darling," my mother says softly as she sits down next to me on the golden couch. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," I say truthfully, even though there's something writhing just beneath my skin, in my chest and stomach, something that makes me want to scream as loud as I can. But I'll get to do that once I'm on the bullet train with plenty of soft pillows to scream into. I think the heat is making everything seem worse than it is.

"Just remember everything the doctors taught you," my father reminds me, as if that's the training that I need to remember to win the Hunger Games. Not the years of survival and combat training. "If you start to feel overwhelmed, you can do the breathing exercises that they taught you."

I do my best not to seem exasperated. "I know, Dad. I'm the one that went to the appointments."

"I'm just trying to help you," he says, immediately going on the defense. As much as I hate it, the first thing that comes to mind is the expression he made the first time I lashed out at him years ago. It started with shouting, about some disagreement I don't remember, and ended with a red mark on his cheek. After that, they decided skipping doctor appointments wasn't an option.

"I know," I huff. "I'm sorry."

Their visit isn't very eventful, not that I thought it would be. But as they leave the room, I can't help but wonder if they're imagining me as my sister instead, the sister I never met. If they would mourn me just as long and just as much as they mourned her.

Reggie and Gaia come next, and together they seem as out of place as my parents trying to congratulate Faroud during the Career choosing ceremony at the Academy. Reggie grins lopsidedly as he sits next to me, leaning in for a hug. Gaia looks on awkwardly, standing with her arms crossed in the way that hides most of her abdomen.

"Don't get together with some muscle man from Two while you're gone, alright?" Reggie says, his eyes more focused than they've been all morning. I can see that he's trying to make a joke, but the underlying suspicion is there.

"I won't," I promise, grabbing one of his hands. "I'll be thinking about you the entire time."

He smiles and places his hand on top of mine. "Come back soon, okay?"

I nod, leaning in for another hug. I can't betray Reggie again like I've done numerous times before. I'll stay loyal while I'm in the Capitol, even if my urge to self-destruct overcomes me, I'd rather hurt myself again before I'd hurt him by getting together with some other guy. And once I'm in the Games, I'll be able to kill and maim whoever I want.

"Gaia," I say, reaching my hand out for her. She walks closer, her kitty heels clicking against the polished wooden floor. She frowns as if concerned that I'm going to yell at her like I've done in the past when I feel out of control.

"Try to eat while I'm gone," I say. "And keep yourself above water."  
She smiles slightly at the inside joke, from when we were learning how to swim in training and she couldn't keep her head above the waves.

"I'll see you both soon," I say. "Don't miss me too much."

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 **Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed District Four. Five will be up within this week. Thanks so much for reading, and leave a review if you want!**


	7. D5 Reaping: Old and New Money

**Hey guys! I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I really like these two tributes, so special thanks to Manectric11 and LiveFreeOrDie to creating them!**

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 _I wanna take you for all that you got_

 _I'm gonna take them for all that they got..._

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 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

I love Reaping day. Not because we get a day off of school- life in Five is boring without something to do. And it's not quite because of the food and celebrations we have after the ceremony, either. No, I love Reaping day because it reveals everyone else's best-kept secrets. How they deal with fear, loss, guilt, relief, and the purest form of happiness that comes with knowing you and your family were spared for another year. No one wants to be seen when they're at their most vulnerable during these times, but the Reaping always brings them out. I've uncovered lots of useful information around the Reaping every year.

My parents, for example. My father is standing in our large kitchen, sipping pensively on a cup of coffee. It's his normal morning ritual, but under his bushy mustache, I can see the twitches of his face that tell me he's anxious about something. On the other hand, my mother is running around the house trying to find her best pair of black shoes- "A must for every occasion!"- to deal with her nerves.

This was all very interesting to me when I turned twelve, but this is my last Reaping. I'm used to it all by now. I can practically count down the minutes until my mother will come marching in the kitchen in defeat, carrying the same pair of blue heels she always wears to the Reaping. She lost that pair of black shoes before I was even born, according to my father.

Truthfully, although their reactions are certainly useful to me, I don't quite understand why they're worried. I've never had to take out tesserae, so I have only seven slips of my name in that bowl on the Reaping stage. And even if I did, would they really have so little faith in me? It's not like Five has a ton of victors, but hell, one of our guys won just three years ago. Surely they know that I would survive if I was Reaped.

My mother pokes her head in the doorway to the kitchen. "Volt, honey, have you seen my diamond necklace?"

"Well, the last time I wore it…" I say, pretending to think. She rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and laughs.

"I don't think we'll need any diamonds today," my father says. "There will be too many rats running around."

His nose wrinkles when he says "rats", referring to the scum that lives in the poorest parts of the district and spends their time on Reaping day scrounging for easy targets to rob. I don't blame him- as the owner of some of the largest power plants in the district, he's the one that's bought all of Mom's expensive jewelry.

"Oh, you're right," she says with a solemn nod, instead hurrying to fix her hair in the mirror on the bathroom door.

"Zayden wants me to meet up before the Reaping," I tell my dad. Sticking around here to watch Mom run around the house with her nails half-painted is fun at first, but I'd rather be off doing something else.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Fine. Just be on time."

If there's one thing I can be thankful for beyond my parents' money, it's their ultimate trust in me. They know I would never get in trouble or do anything that would reflect badly on us… at least not without getting away with it.

I'm sure I stand out in my Reaping outfit as I make my way to our usual meeting spot, but I enjoy the attention to a degree. The stares from the girls as I walk past in my black outfit hair, embodying the tall, dark persona that draws so many people's attention. If someone makes eye contact with me, I smile and nod at them. Many return it with a genuine twinkle in their eye, but some don't seem as enthusiastic as usual. Some of their faces seem strained and tense, like my father does when he's talking to one of his idiot floor managers. I keep an eye out for anyone who looks to be a little angry or upset- they're always the most fun to mess with, and Zayden and I will need something to do after the ceremony other than gossip with the other kids at school.

Unfortunately, someone disturbs my planning. "Volt!" I can recognize her voice from a mile away. It's so shrill and loud it would probably still hurt my ears.

"Europa!" I turn to her with a broad smile, the making sure none of my resentment shows on my face. "How are you?"

"Not so good," she says solemnly, leaning against a wooden utility pole on the side of the street. I can tell that she's trying to garner sympathy- the arm draped around her midsection, the hair tucked behind her ear in faux anxiety, eyes wandering. "I'm worried about the Reaping. We both have our names in seven times! How do stay so calm?"

I don't mention that I can easily tell this is all for show, and instead put on my winning smile and say, "There's no use in worrying about things you can't control. I'd rather spend my day looking forward to what's to come."

She nods slowly, looking down as she takes in my advice. "Volt, you're so smart," she finally says, meeting my eyes with an imploring smile. "You always know what to say."

 _Because I can always tell what you want to hear_. "It's just a gift I have."

"Well, I'm glad you're always willing to share it with me," she says shyly, inching closer.

"Anytime, Europa," I say, stepping backwards and staring back on my destination. "Tell your mother not to be worried, too!"

Her disappointment is palpable in the air, just as it always is. But for once, I'm more impressed than annoyed. It takes a lot of balls to come onto someone on Reaping day. But then again, Europa has always been a bold girl. It's too bad I'm not really interested in whatever most guys see in girls- otherwise she would make a nice weapon to wield in the desolate landscape of Five's wealthier families. She's not as well-off as me, and even my family isn't wealthy by any means compared to One or the Capitol, but relationships are a powerful tool. The only hitch is that I don't care for girls, and being with a man only serves to push you farther down the ladder, not up it.

And the Halvorsson's golden son, who always has a smile and a greeting ready, who gets along with everyone and never gets in trouble, can't have a stain like that on his record.

I spot Zayden in the alleyway before he notices me, talking animatedly to someone hidden in the shadows. They move out farther and I sigh when I see it's Ajax. His eyes are wide as he listens to one of Zayden's wild stories about dishing out justice where needed. I know for a fact that most of them are exaggerated, if not entirely fabricated, but Ajax pays rapt attention.

"What are you guys doing?" I ask as I duck into the makeshift camp in the alley. Zayden and I made it years ago when we realized we needed somewhere to escape to, away from the mindless masses. It's just a yellow tarp draped over part of the alley, made to look like a homeless person's hideout. There are hundreds just like it around Five, built between tenements, hidden in abandoned power plants, on the back ends of administrative buildings where they can beg the higher-ups for spare food . Ours has been taken down plenty of times by Peacekeepers trying to keep vermin off the streets, but it's always easy to rebuild, and no one knows it's ours. One time I heard rumors at school that someone saw me handing out free food to the homeless around this part of town, but that's it. Because what else would Volt Halvorsson be doing in a squatter's rundown home?

Zayden's sharp blue eyes that never miss anything, similar to mine, shoot up as he smirks at me. "I'm just telling Ajax all about last week. When the two of us helped those girls escape the Peacekeepers."

"Ah, yes," I say with conviction. "That was a crazy night."

"What were they in trouble for?" Ajax asks, now fully invested. "It must have been something serious."

"It wasn't." Zayden shakes his head. "They were just… standing too long outside the market. They were hungry but didn't have any money, and the Peacekeepers came to chase them off. But Volt and I-" he nods at me- "hid them here until they went away. And then we bought them some of the food that they wanted."

"That's crazy," Ajax says in awe. "Do you know who they were?"

"We didn't ask," I say. "Zayden, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure."

We duck outside of the tarp, standing in the pale sunlight as a few people walk aimlessly past, like mourners headed to a funeral they don't know the location of.

"What's up?" Zayden asks, hands on his hips. He's clearly enjoying today just as much as I am, but riling Ajax up might have consequences later.

"Do you really want him telling everyone at the parties later about how we saved some nonexistent girls?"

"Of course," Zayden hisses, eyes bright. "Everyone's sad that the Capitol is taking two kids away, so we take two kids back from their servants, the Peacekeepers. It's perfect. Everyone will love it."

"I really don't want to deal with the cultists today," I say. _Cultists_ is the word Zayden and I use to describe the hordes of kids at our school that would have their own Hunger Games to hang out with me for an evening, and by extension, Zayden. I know that's the only reason he sticks around, and I'm not bothered by it. But sometimes his obsession with being praised is annoying.

"Fine, fine," he grumbles. "I'll tell him not to tell anyone. It'll come out in a couple of days."

"Thank you," I say, even using my cult voice. "I had something else planned for this evening. How do you feel about getting Europa and her brother to fight about their parent's divorce again?"

Zayden grins manically. "Hell yeah."

 _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F_

What wakes me is the light that streams in naturally from outside, as if caressing my face. I smile and lean into it, only to remember I'm alone in my own bed in Five. Then I remember what day it is, and sit up suddenly. I can see from the window that the district is already alive with activity, the sun high in the sky. I bolt out of bed and to my closet to try and find the Reaping outfit I picked out yesterday.I don it as quickly as I can before sitting down at my vanity to do my makeup. The lily-white piece of furniture was imported from the Capitol after I mentioned to one of my clients that I really needed a new one. He was one of my regulars, a man I've grown to like quite well during my time as an escort.

It's strange being here in Five during late spring. Usually I would be in the Capitol right now, for days or weeks at a time entertaining clients. Many of the clientele Sinclair caters to like to have the company of someone from the districts during the Games, to have another take on what's happening on screen. Not that I or any of the other _escorts_ ever voice our real opinions.

However, I do like my job. I'm never bored, and I get to meet all kinds of people, but being home is nice too. Spending so much time in other people's manors, homes, apartments, can become tiring after awhile. I like to have some time to myself in my own space, the apartment that I furnished and pay for myself; even painted. It's one of the bigger ones in Five, and I can afford it all by myself. A huge leap from my life just three years ago, when I was staying at the Group Home, crammed into a tiny bedroom with five other girls. No, I prefer living by my own rules.

But the Reaping is something that even I can't avoid, no matter how successful I am. In the Group Home, we were forced to take at least one tesserae every year to "pay back our caretakers", so even though I haven't taken any since I was fifteen, I still know the odds aren't in my favor.

I let out a long breath as I stare at myself in the mirror above my vanity. My light blue eyes and soft facial features that have made me so much money in the Capitol won't do anything for me today. I feel trapped, knowing that I won't be able to talk my way out if I'm Reaped.

I just have to get through today. My last Reaping. After this, my life will be smooth sailing. Entertaining curious Capitolites, spending my time luxuriating in their expensive penthouses or here in my apartment, modest by comparison but paradise compared to most living conditions in Five.

The dress I'm wearing is light blue to match my eyes, and I don one of the most expensive pieces of jewelry I own- a silver ring that one of my clients gave me after I spent a week with them attending fancy Capitolite parties. It was purchased in the Capitol, but I think it was made in District One. I smile softly as I gaze at the sliver of my reflection in the band, smoothing my other hand over my hair. I don't flaunt my wealth too much around Five; lest people start asking questions; but I can make an exception for the Reaping.

I head down to the street and keep an eye out for Ciera, my only real friend. We haven't known each other long, but I don't keep in contact with anyone from the Group Home. I prefer to forget the entire part of my life that I spent there.

Ciera is clearly visible from the other side of the street, her dark hair obvious in the bright sunlight. I waltz over to her, a genuine smile on my face. "You waited for me."

"I thought about waking you, but you might have killed me," she says matter-of-factly. I chuckle softly and watch as she continues watering the flowers outside her apartment door.

Unlike me, Ciera was born into her money. But she isn't vain like some of the people I meet in this part of town; instead she's quiet and contemplative and easy to be around. Her presence is always nice after being around so many loud, flashy Capitolites. And if I had no one to talk to about my work beside Sinclair, I would go insane.

"Shall we go?" she asks, already moving before I give an answer. We walk in silence, both simply enjoying each other's company.

The district, while full of commuting people, seems dark and inactive. The only sound that fills the air is that of the distant windmills outside the district fences, endlessly moving to create energy for Panem. On the tops of buildings, rays of sun bounce off solar panels. Almost every structure in the district is covered in them, all used for Panem's energy. The people at the Group Home told me that my parents named me after such rays. Raillen- _Rai._ I'm still not sure if I believe it, but it's a nice story. How the Group Home would know about the origins of my name when they couldn't even tell me how my parents died seemed suspicious. At least Sinclair never lies to me.

When we reach the Square, Ciera and I part ways with just a knowing glance. Ciera is nineteen, so she'll be standing among the other adults outside of the Square. The Peacekeepers prick my finger and I do my best not to wince, staring down at the sight of my own blood. The woman who pricked me waves me on and I give her my best smile, the one I give associates in my line of work when meeting them for the first time. I can see some of my brightness reflected in her returning smile.

I make room for myself in the section of eighteen-year olds and stand quietly as the mayor begins his speech. Some of the girls give me dirty looks, but I know it's just jealousy; of my tailored dress and perfectly styled hair, the silver ring on my finger. In fact, I feel a small grin grow on my face as their glares intensify. I'm used to being wanted, but envy is another kind of desire that I'm not sure I want to get accustomed to.

Up onstage, I can see our latest victor, Jabbock Darlson, who won just four years ago. His Games were the last that I watched here in Five, sitting in the Group Home with the other kids watching in horror as he strangled an opponent to death, and killed his runner-up by smashing in their face with a large rock. Back then, everyone thought he was a beast of a tribute, his physical strength and apparent smarts keeping him afloat- at least that was the angle the Capitol painted of him. Now looking at him, with his pained expression and hands clasped nervously in front of him, I can't help but feel sorry for whoever will be mentored by this shell of a victor.

"Happy Hunger Games!" The escort chirps excitedly.

I feel some of my apprehension from this morning start to catch up with me. It's not out of the realm of possibility that I'm Reaped. I'm eighteen with several tesserae under my belt, not to mention a pretty face the Capitol would love- if what they say is true about the Reapings being rigged. As the escort titters over to the girl's bowl, a chirrup of "May the odds be ever in your favour!" leaving her lips, I feel myself tense up.

The slip of paper is long and takes forever to unfurl. The escort steps back up to the mic and reads, " _Rye-_ llen Harkness," with some difficulty pronouncing my first name.

My stomach sinks to somewhere around my knees. I can't go into the Hunger Games! My life just started, and what a wonderful I was going to have. I try to walk forward, but I realize my knees are locked underneath me. I take a deep breath and try to maintain my composure. As I mount the stage, I notice that everyone's faces seem relieved. No one really knows me, and they're all glad that it wasn't them or someone they love.

I feel my breath coming quickly, but I stand up as straight as I can, putting on my pleasant, mildly curious face. It's strange, I realize dazedly. I'll be going to the Capitol for the Hunger Games season after all.

"Would you like to say something, dear?" the escort asks sweetly, handing me the mic.

I take it with a sweaty hand and stare at her. "My name is _Ray-_ llen." I tell her, my voice echoing off the high rise buildings surrounding the Square.

"Oh, sorry!" she says hurriedly, taking the mic away. Her cheeks are a little pink as she walks to the boy's bowl, heels clicking.

She quickly snatches a name from the top of the pile, another long slip. She clears her throat before reading it. "Volt Halvorsson!"

The crowd gasps and immediately starts murmuring as Volt Halvorsson himself marches up onstage, relaxed as always and carefree smile on his face. He nods respectfully to the escort before taking his place beside me. Well, I guess most of my chances at getting Five to back me in the arena are shot. Volt is the golden boy- I remember him from before I dropped out of school to work for Sinclair, and I still hear about him even now. He's friends with everyone, and I don't doubt that the entire district will rally behind him.

"Now shake hands, you two!" the escort chirrups. I turn to Volt and shake his hand with as much strength as I can muster. He gives me a polite smile, and I'm surprised to not see anything in his eyes. Not fear, anger, sadness. Nothing.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

My parents are the first people to show up, which I'm grateful for. I take my mother's hands in my hands and look into her eyes, smiling as she cries mascara down her plump cheeks. "Mom, don't let anyone else visit me, okay? Just tell them I want to be alone."

She looks up in shock. "Volt, baby, everybody wants to see you before-" she cuts herself off with an ugly sob.

"What about Zayden, son?" my dad asks with concern. "Or Ajax?"  
"I don't want this to be anyone's last memory of me," I lie, patting my mom's shoulder.

Actually, I just don't want to deal with more emotional people crying on my expensive black shirt, especially not the hordes of people who are certainly waiting outside for their turn. Zayden has more important things to do anyway, like spreading that story about us saving the girls from the Peacekeepers and rallying people to my cause. My parents are rich, but not enough to sponsor me all on their own. The district will have to come together to support me… not that I can't support myself.

My father gives me his silver ring before he leaves, one that was given to him as a business gift from a pleased partner in the Capitol. It's priceless, and I smirk up at him as I take it. "I thought you said no fancy jewelry at the Reaping?"

His smile is full of pain as he leans in to hug me. Quite honestly, I'm not so sure what they're so afraid of. Do they really think I won't be coming home alive? I mean, I've been careful to only show them my good side, just like with everyone else, but I thought they would at least know me a little better than this. I'll be back with no problem, and if I'm not… well, everyone has to die eventually.

After they leave, I sit in the red velvet couch and watch out the window as reporters gather to capture my district partner and I leaving for the train station. I practice my best winning smile in my reflection, even giving myself a wave. When I'm victor, I'll be waving and smiling a lot. I should start learning early, and it can't help if the Capitol sees that I'm unafraid and pleased to be here. And I don't doubt the women will fawn over my blue eyes, messy black hair that I ruffle a little for good measure, and thin frame. It's never too early to make a good impression.

 _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F_

Ciera comes into the room quietly, smiling softly at me. I didn't expect her to cry- nor do I want her to. "They almost didn't let me in," she says with a light laugh. "But they did when they saw I wasn't pricked, for some reason."

She sits down next to me, her dark brown hair falling into her eyes as she stares at the ground.

"Are you afraid?" she asks me suddenly.

I think a little. "Yes."

"Well, don't be," she says, looking up with a fierce expression on her face. "You're the strongest person I know, and you have ties to the Capitol."

"They're not real ties; I just know a few people here and there-"

"People who are upper class," she argues. "Your boss will have to convince them to help you somehow. What's his name? Sa-Sim-"

"Sinclair," I say, wondering if he's sitting in the Capitol at this very moment in his luxurious apartment, watching the recap of my Reaping. I've never seen him lose his cool before, but he might be pretty close right now. If anyone catches wind of what my occupation is, his business will be shut down and he will certainly become an Avox; that is, if they don't execute him. He has girls and a few young men in all twelve districts working for him, though the exact number is unknown to me. I don't even know anyone else in Five who works for him, if any, but I know there are others out there. None of us are supposed to leave our districts, not unless we are a tribute or have official upper class business with the Capitol, and if anyone can trace our illicit movements back to him, he'll be just as culpable.

"Sinclair," Ciera nods. "He has to help you. He has money, and so do his clients. You said he promised you security when he recruited you."

I recall the first time I met Sinclair, his sleazy smile and pressed suit seeming so out of place. He asked me if I liked it at the Group Home, and whether I thought I'd be better suited for another kind of life. A secretive one, for sure, but far more rewarding.

"This is outside his realm of influence," I remind her.

"You have leverage," she says, a dangerous glint in her eye. "No one can touch you now, but he's still vulnerable. Make sure he knows that."

I grin, drawing her in for a hug. "I think I'm rubbing off on you a little, Ciera."

"Maybe," she laughs, then pulls away, her expression serious. "You have to win, okay?"

"Okay."

No one else comes after her, which I don't mind. The silence is nice, and I expect it will be one of my last moments alone before going into the arena. Soon I'll be surrounded by mentors, stylists, adoring fans, other tributes. I sigh deeply as I stare into my reflection in a gold plate above the fireplace. I'll have to do more than charm my way out of this one.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a review!**


	8. D6 Reaping: Nothing to Lose

**Hey everyone! I hope you all had a great week. Here's District Six, with two great tributes created by Greywolf44 and TheNoobyBoy!**

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 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

Mornings are always the best time to scavenge for food, especially during the weekends when some people have the day off, or on holidays like today. If you can call Reaping day a holiday.

The street is dark with the shadows of the buildings and garages that hang overhead, but a sliver of early sunlight pokes through as Mary and I prowl through the alleyways. In my hand I grip one of my makeshift knives; a rudimentary thing made out of a piece of broken glass sharpened on concrete and connected to a handle of a hammer with rubber bands. It's certainly not my best work, but we're roaming around the more affluent neighborhoods today, and if we get apprehended I don't want to lose one of my good knives. This one will work just fine for today.

The knife is really just a precaution anyway. To let anyone who challenges us know that we mean business. I'm the brawn and Mary is the brains. At least that's what she says when she wants to get on my nerves.

As predicted, the streets are mostly empty, with only a few other beggars and street crawlers littering the alleys. They give us curious looks as we pass, but don't dare come near us due to the sharp edge in my fist.

Mary and I make our way to across the slums and the downtown area into the more privileged part of the district. It's nothing compared to the glimpses of districts One and Two that I've seen on the television, but some people are able to do well here in Six. Whether through owning factories or managing some major repair shops, there are enough well-off families to fill a small section of the town near the Victor's Village. There isn't really anyone out at this time of day, on this day especially. But we're not here to chat with our neighbors.

Mary starts looking in the trash bins on the north side of the street, while I keep my eyes out for Peacekeepers or any wealthy fathers who'd like to take their anger for the Reapings out on a pair of street rats. Mary doesn't find anything within the first couple houses, but a few cans down the road contains a discarded cardboard box filled with chicken bones and a few pieces of meat deemed too dark to eat. It's not a lot, but everything helps. Out real jackpot happens when we find a cake that was thrown out, half eaten and stale, but still enough for a full meal for four people.

"We'll be eating good tonight," Mary says with a grin. I smile back hesitantly. It feels wrong to smile today, even if we have good reason. The more well-off families usually do some cooking for the Reaping the day before, and usually ends up tossing out some ingredients or things that were taking up space in their cupboards. It's a fine day for scavenging, but not for much else.

Even begging is off limits on Reaping day. Usually Mary and I would finish our morning by waiting on the street corners, asking for money as people head to work- but not today. Peacekeepers are everywhere, and no one wants to give anything today anyway. Their too busy worrying about themselves, their families.

"We should head back," I say, thinking about Wench. "It's almost time to get ready."

Mary shrugs as she hefts the cake into her arms. "We could probably find something else along here, but if that's what you want…"

I nod and we start back to our side of town. I already feel myself start to worry, as I always do, about my family waiting for us in our makeshift home on the side of what used to be a repair garage for fancy cars sent in from the Capitol. Now it stands empty, a few homeless people like us drifting in and out of the dark, cold space. The wind is whistling through the alley as Mary and I arrive at our depressing home. I can't help but grimace as I remember the apartment that we used to live in before my father died and our lives fell apart.

As we approach, my mother doesn't react and simply stares at the ceiling of her cardboard box, eyes unfocused. Her sleeve is pulled up, exposing the needle marks on her forearm. Her skin is pale and almost translucent, hair stringy and hanging limp over her shoulders. I try not to think about my first Reaping, when she dressed up in her best blue dress, even wearing lipstick. We had to sell all of our nice clothes a long time ago.

I must be feeling sentimental today. I help her stand and run my fingers through her hair. "It's almost time to leave, Mom. Where's Wench?"

She moans softly, pointing to the other box under our tarp. I smile and pat her shoulder before handing her over to Mary. Though we only met two years ago, when my our landlord kicked us out onto the street, Mary is like family to us. She doesn't have any of her own, so she's adapted well to living with us.

I carefully pull back the curtain that separates Wench's box from my mother's. He huddled in the corner with a raggedy blanket covering him, shivering from the cool morning air.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, causing him to look up.

"Fine," he says, his voice weak and throat hoarse, but he sounds better than he has in weeks.

I reach over to touch his forehead, a gesture that's mostly just habitual now. I know that he won't feel warm, but rather as cold as ice, and I'm right. The mystery illness that took ahold of him after our father died in a car crash still doesn't have any apparent cause, or any cure that the doctors here can give us. And even if they did, we wouldn't be able to afford it.

"Maybe they'll let me stay here this time," he says. But we both know better- Wench is sick, but he's not close to death. Yet.

"How's Mom?" he asks.

"She's fine," I say. The disease that stole our mother from us after her husband's death isn't mysterious at all- it was grief, and it stole everything from her. Her brain, her self-control, her job, our home. I try not to ask myself where she gets her morphling since we have no money, and how more and more scars appear on her arms as time goes by.

"Luckily you have me to keep attention away from her," Wench says with a weak smile.

It's true- the Peacekeepers have been trying to rid Six of the "morphling epidemic" for years, especially addicts who don't contribute to the district's economy. But when we have Wench in tow at the Reaping, no one dares confront us about our mother.

"Lucky for us," I say hollowly. "Let me help you up."

Wench holds my shoulder as I drag him to his feet, helping him walk out of the box and into the dim light of the alley. Mary and our mother are standing in the mouth of the street, and I'm pleased to see Mom is standing on her own, staring blankly at the wall. Reaping day is difficult for all of us, but I know the idea of losing another family member haunts her.

"Shall we get moving?" I ask. Mary nods and takes my Mom's hand to guide her down the street. The rest of the homeless population is also beginning to rally their courage to stand in the Square, whether of Reaping age or not. None of us are presentable, dressed in the best clothes we can find in our piles of rubble, many of us without showering in days or weeks. The cameras in the Square won't want to focus on us, except to perhaps evoke sympathy from the Capitol audience. If they even have emotions like that.

As I gaze at our ragabond family- one member missing, another joined, all of us stained with the hardships of life on the street and of sickness, addiction, grief- I can't help but wonder, as I have for so many years, if it's time to finally volunteer. I haven't told anyone about my plan to volunteer for the Games, but it's been in the back of my mind since our first Reaping out on the street. If I won, we would never have to worry about food again, and Wench be able to afford Capitol treatment for his condition. And if I died, I knew Mary would continue to take care of them after I was gone. What's the danger, really?

I've been planning to volunteer in my last Reaping, but will Wench still be alive in two years? The thought gnaws away at me as I glance at his gaunt face. He's been living without medicine for two years since he was diagnosed, and the disease seems to be progressing faster the longer time goes on. For the first year, he was mostly the same but felt faint or sick every now and then, but within the last few months it's worsened immensely, and hasn't shown any sign of stopping.

I look over at my mother's blank stare and Mary's determined, set brows, always battling against her fear. She's been living on the streets longer than we have, ever since her father threw her onto the street when she was eleven. She'll survive many years to come, I'm sure, but with what quality of life?

What do I really have to gain from staying anyway?

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

Reaping day is always one that's plagued with violence- the Capitol against us, the Peacekeepers against anyone refusing to go, the citizens against each other. Tensions have been high on the street for weeks now, and only worsening as days pass. I know we can't stand by and let the thugs terrorize the district, distributing morphling, uprooting the homeless, even looting homes and businesses that were unluckily targeted. Even the Peacekeepers are too afraid to engage with them sometimes.

And so that's why Lance, Jax, and I have been on the street since dawn, trying to bring a sense of calm to the neighborhood. Of course, not everyone is reassured by yet another "gang" as they call us, and I can see some disapproving glances sent our way from open windows, but they know we would protect them if it came down to it. The drugs, violence, and general discontent in our neighborhood as decreased significantly since the Warriors were formed a little over two years ago.

Lance walks in the middle of the street, with Jax and I at the curb. His eyes are sharp as always, taking in everything and anything that might be out of order. Thankfully, the street is quiet this time of day. No one is heading to the Reaping yet, and the other gangs are probably busy terrorizing poorer communities first. It makes me sick, but Dante always tells me that I can't protect everyone. We need to focus on our own families, are own community.

Dante himself meets us at the corner, Trent in tow. The two nod at me as they join our little coalition. "Everything is quiet on the northern side," Dante says.

"Same for ours," Lance remarks, lifting his hand up to block out the blinding sunlight. "It's getting a little late. My parents will want me back soon to get ready."

"Go ahead," I tell him. "But take the long way back, won't you? To check on the houses we missed."

He gives me a respectful nod and jogs away. I've never quite gotten used to the way the other members treat me, even though I'm the one that founded the Warriors in the first place. I wish we could all be on the same level, all working together toward the same goal, but that's not how gangs work around here. In order to protect our families, we had to speak the same language that they do.

"Paullie was giving us a dirty look when we passed," Dante says as the remaining four of us continue on our trail. "I thought he might try something."

"He looked real mad," Trent interjects.

"Just ignore him," I say. "He knows we're the only thing keeping his family safe."

The Warriors are only open to boys who live in our neighborhood, but not everyone who tries to get in actually makes it. Paullie was a little too easy to rile up, seeming looking for trouble where there was none. I decided not to initiate him, which i know could be a dangerous move- there are plenty of other gangs around that he could join, and then they would have a member right in the middle of our community. But I have a feeling he won't- if he wanted to simply be in any gang, he wouldn't be so torn up about not getting in the Warriors.

I reach up to touch the emblem that signifies our gang members, eying the identical ones around the necks of my compatriots. I made them myself in my father's workshop after the gang started gaining recognition from the other groups on the street. All of Six's gangs have visible markers for all of their members to wear, and the rest of the boys wanted some. I don't like being associated with the violence and drugs that the other gangs perpetuate, but it's the price for safety, I suppose.

After finishing patrolling the neighborhood, the other gang members gradually disappear home like Lance until it's just me and Dante. We walk quietly back home, where we live on the same street, in a comfortable silence.

"I'm glad this is your last Reaping," he remarks to me before we part ways. "Next year we'll all be able to spend more time helping with preparations."

Helping their respective neighborhood prepare for the post-Reaping parties is a must for all the gangs in Six, but as most of the Warriors are eighteen or under, we have to spend most of our time on ourselves on Reaping morning. So far Dante and only a few others above Reaping age have the time and peace of mind to help out the community.

"Is your mom making pies?" I ask hopefully.

Dante grins. "I don't know. I'll have to ask her."

We laugh a little together. Dante is one of the few people that I can really be myself with- we've known each other for years, before the formation of the Warriors. I remember his mom's delicious but rare cherry pies from my childhood.

We part ways soon after that, giving each other a friendly wave. I try my best to push away any negative thoughts as I head home alone. There are so many Warriors of Reaping age that it's best to not even think about one of their names being read on stage later today.

My father's garage is unusually dark and still. Reaping day is one of the only days of the year that my father doesn't spend all his waking hours here, tinkering with broken down Peacekeeper vehicles and the occasional repair of a Capitol citizen's car. The richest Capitolites can afford to send their malfunctioning vehicles to a large "factory-garage" for a faster and more guaranteed fix, but others have to rely on our cheaper, "less-skilled" labor. Their cars sit silently and ominously in the darkness, some covered with sheets and others bare for in their glittery, polished glory. When I was younger, I often fantasized about scratching a secret message somewhere on the car's smooth surface, where my father and the inspectors that see everything that is shipped in and out of the district wouldn't see. A message solely for the owner of the car- about how much I despise them. But in a much ruder way.

I quietly open the door to our kitchen from within the garage, surprised to see that my girlfriend Natalie is waiting for me at the table. She sets down her cup of coffee and smiles at me as I enter.

"Good morning, Logan," she says. I lean over to kiss her on the cheek with a smile.

"Good morning. Are my parents awake?"

"Yes, and your mom is a little upset. Just so you know."

When isn't she upset with me? She and Dad didn't approve of my decision to create the Warriors, which I understand. But even though I know they recognize everything that I've done for the community since then, they still treat me like a delinquent. It could have something to do with the time the rival gang from the next neighborhood over had tried encroaching on our territory, unamused by talk of a new gang of mostly high school students. I may have lost my temper a little bit during one encounter, but I've tried to reign myself back in since then and have Dante confront any challengers to our territory.

"I'll go get them," I tell Natalie, patting her shoulder. As I move through the living room, I can hear their voices murmuring softly from their bedroom. I knock on the door, pressing my forehead against it. "Are you guys ready to leave?"

My mother opens it, a terse smile pressed into her face. "Good morning, sweetie. We'll be ready in a minute."

"Alright."

The door shuts. I try not to feel too upset about the lack of real communication between us- I know it's just because they care about me. They have to worry everyday about my safety on the street, and today they have the extra layer of anxiety about the Reaping. It's not personal.

Natalie and I sit in the kitchen with coffees until my parents trudge into the room. They're dressed in their best clothes, all black like a funeral. Reaping day is one of the only days where my father doesn't wear his mechanic outfit, though the lines of his face are still painted in grease stains that will never wash out. He smiles when he sees me, and I can sense the genuine affection behind it.

"How are you doing, son?" he asks.

"Great. Everything is quiet on the street."  
"The others know not to mess with Logan now," Natalie says. I try to hide my smile behind my coffee cup. Sometimes when it feels like everything is against me in the world, it's nice to know that Natalie will always support my choices.

While Natalie and my parents chat about what her family is planning after the Reaping, I side eye the window carefully, watching for anything out of place. Only a few people litter the road, all dressed in their best with somber expressions. Nothing out of place. If only I could protect my home from the Reaping itself, then the picture would be perfect.

"Are you ready?"

I turn to Natalie. "Yeah, let's go."

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

The only thing that fills my mind as I stare at the mayor's face is how much I want to smash it in. His dead fish eyes, his sallow skin, his pristine white clothes unmarred with grease or mud, as he spouts the Capitol's nonsense. I feel Mary shift beside me and shoulder me gently in the side and realize I've started breathing loudly, my fists bunched at my sides.

At Mary's nudge, I try to relax and breathe in deeply. I think about the cake we will eat later after the Reaping. The gangs will be busy with their own celebrations, as will the Peacekeepers, and we'll be free to wander the streets without repercussions for "begging" or "dirtying the streets". I still haven't figured out what that one means after two years of living in cardboard boxes.

"Happy Hunger Games!" the escort chirps shrilly into the microphone. "How is everyone doing?"  
There is no answer, only a ringing silence as the crowd stares into her faltering grin.

"Well, may the odds be ever in your favour!" she finishes with a flourish. She walks over to the girl's bowl, and my heart rate immediately spikes as I remember my thoughts from earlier. If I really am going to volunteer, that means I won't be eating any cake, not might I ever see the skyline of District Six again, the tall tenements and factory-garages contrasted against the shorter garages and businesses, see the sun rise above the smog at midday and shine bright off the sharp metal edges of all the cars and trains and hovercrafts. The thought is a little overwhelming for a moment.

"Pagani Chevy!"

I feel Mary's body stiffen beside me, and for a moment I wonder if they called her name. But then the actual syllables of the name register… my name, shouted by the escort instead of announced by me after volunteering.

My legs start to move of their own accord, unbending like sticks. I feel my unruly hair fall into my face, but I keep my chin up, taking deep breaths. This isn't a time to panic. I'm sixteen years old, plenty old enough to win. Hell, a twelve year old won last year.

I can't force myself to smile for the cameras, but the escort doesn't seem to mind, clasping a hand on my shoulder and giving me a sickly sweet grin. "Would anyone like to volunteer for young Pagani!"

My vision is a little blurry as I stare at the crowd, praying Mary stays quiet. Luckily she does, and the escort detaches herself from me.

"And now for the boys!" A few eternal seconds later, "Logan Wheeler!"

The name is unfamiliar, but I don't know many people anyway. The guy who climbs the stage from the eighteen-year olds section is tall with spiked blonde hair, the typical style of the gangs that infect the streets with their violence.

"What a handsome young man! Would anyone like to volunteer for Logan?"

"Don't do anything stupid," he says suddenly in a loud, low voice beside me. It seems he's talking to someone in the audience, but from here it seems he's talking to himself. The thought makes me start laughing a little, and I have to cover my mouth to stop it.

"Wonderful!" the escort trills when no one volunteers. "Our two tributes for District Six!"

The audience applauds cheerfully, perhaps glad that the tributes for this year won't be missed. A street rat and a gang member.

When Logan turns to shake my hand, I can practically count the smattering of freckles covering his face. He nods respectfully to me before we're broken apart and led into the Justice Building, which I didn't expect.

But I'm not even much time to think about it before I'm deposited in a waiting room with paintings and photographs covering the walls of advances in transportation. A large metal engraving of a giant locomotive is facing me where I sit, like it's going to run headon into me. I can't help thinking about the irony of this all- I chickened out from volunteering at the last minute and here I am anyway. If I needed a sign that this is the last chance to save my family, then this was it.

My mother and brother come first, each exactly as I expected them. My mother stares blankly at the wall as Wench sobs inconsolably, his red-rimmed eyes only reminding me of what I need to do in the arena.

"Promise me you'll do your best," is all he can manage.

"I promise," I say, taking his hands in mine. "You've always been able to count on me before, haven't you?"

He nods as he starts crying again, this time giving me a tight hug. I glance over his shoulder at Mom, who appears now to be wiping her own eyes. Perhaps she isn't as out of it as I imagined.

"Mom," I say, reaching for her. "Will you take care of Wench while I'm gone?"

She nods, her face devoid of emotion even as more tears fill her eyes. It's more of an empty request anyway- I know Mary will be the one to look after them both when I leave.

When the Peacekeepers come to drag them away, I feel a strange sense of peace. Even if I die, I'll die knowing I did everything I could to save them. And if I survive, I'll be able to afford Wench's treatment and proper care for my mother. We won't have to live on the streets any longer. It will be the perfect life that we've been dreaming about for years.

Mary comes next, composed as always. "They tried to stop me from coming," she says in a low voice. "But I convinced them I was over twenty."

I snort. It's not a far off assumption- Mary tends to exude a maturity that extends her years. It's something about the way she holds herself, the way her eyes flit with distanced interest around the room. "Nice furniture. I'm jealous you'll get to sleep in a bed in the Capitol."

I smile somewhat painfully, realizing that she's right. I can't remember the last time I slept in a real bed, or ate a full meal that wasn't found in someone else's trash.

Mary extends her hand for me to shake, which I accept with vigor. "I'll see you when you get back," she says, leaving the manner of my return ambiguous.

"You'll see me on the big screen," I remind her, and we both laugh a little. The Peacekeepers round up all the homeless and those who didn't own a television during the weeks of the Games so that they can watch the tributes on giant screens in the Square. We watched the last two Games that way, Mary and I with makeshift knives clutched in our hands in case someone tried to rob us or worse, the smell of the other street dwellers filling up the Square until my nose was practically desensitized to it. And there's something about watching a muscular Career smash in the face of a helpless thirteen year old on a colorful projected screen that made your stomach turn.

"I got something for you," Mary says, reaching into her pocket. I lean forward with curiosity as she pulls out a small green gemstone. "It's fake," she says. "So don't get too excited. I found it this morning and I was going to give it to you later as a present." She presses it into my palm. "Happy Hunger Games."

"Happy Hunger Games, Mary," I whisper.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

I wish, as improbable as it is, that the Warriors will simply let me go without much fuss. I don't want this room, full of Capitol propaganda and smelling of musty old furniture, to be the last real memory they have of me before I leave for the Capitol. Or this version of me to be the last one they see other than on the big screen- chest heaving with anger as I try to calm down.

At least my district partner isn't completely useless. I don't know her personally, but I recognize her face as one of the street rats that scavenge around our neighborhood sometimes. I know she knows how to use a knife and how to go without food, and she's not very young. I might have to kill her in the end, sure, but she might be able to help me get to that point.

My parents come first. My mother is crying, embracing me as my father stares at me, eyes strangely glassy and blank. "Oh. Logan," my mother sobs. "I love you so much. All we ever wanted to do was protect you."

"I know, Mom," I say.

"Promise you'll do your best," my father says suddenly, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Do whatever you have to do."

"I will," I say firmly, standing to give him a hug as well.

After they reluctantly leave, Dante comes alone. I'm glad that it's just him so that we can hug without the other guys watching. I can sense that he's trying not to cry and stay strong, but his voice tremors with the effort.

"I thought I should come alone first. Before the others overwhelm you."

"I don't want to see them," I say immediately. "I just… this can't be our last time together."

He nods, not surprised at all by my request. "I'll tell them. But Logan… will you try to win?"

"Of course."

Dante's smile looks forced. "The Capitol will love you. The boy next door who can also fight."

"I don't care if they love me," I say automatically. "I care about surviving, and I will." I stare into his eyes. "But Dante, you have to protect them while I'm gone. All of them- the boys, Natalie, my parents, everyone. You have to be the leader. Don't let them panic, and don't let any of the other gangs try to challenge us just because I'm gone. The Warriors need you."

He nods gravely. "I understand. I'll do everything I can, Logan."

We embrace one more time before the Peacekeepers come to take him away. As I stand alone in the middle of the room, I reach up to touch my Warrior's necklace, feeling the anger return as I think about everything that could happen while I'm gone. The Capitol really just has to meddle with as much of our lives as possible.

Natalie comes next. She opens the door quietly, and walks over to me slowly to take me in her arms. I feel her silent tears fall onto my neck.

"It's okay, Natalie," I promise. "I'll do my best and I'll come back. Don't worry."

"All I do is worry about you," she sniffles, pulling away. "This time I think you can't tell me I'm being overprotective."

I chuckle a little, gazing into her eyes. She leans in to kiss me passionately, and I hold onto her with the sudden knowledge that this may be the last time. When she pulls away, her eyelashes are even more wet.

"I love you, Logan," she says, wiping away her tears. "Don't do anything stupid."

"When have I ever done anything stupid?" I ask with a grin.

We sit together on the couch quietly until the Peacekeepers come to drag her away, when I shout after them that I love her, punctuated by the slamming of the door. The finality hits me as I try to calm myself. I can't seem angry when I make the journey to the train station. Strong, capable, deadly, but not angry.

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a review and let me know what you think. We're halfway done with the Reapings now, with twelve more interesting tributes to come. Who are your favorites so far?**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	9. D7 Reaping: Birds on the Summer Breeze

**Hey everyone! I'm sorry this chapter is a little late. But I hope the tributes make up for it! Thanks to MaxMan667 to creating these :)**

* * *

 _Sparrow Lavaleé (12)- D7F_

Raven is still asleep in our bed, his snores echoing through our wooden home. As I carefully finish washing the last plate in the rickety sink and place it in the cupboard, I can hear the wind whistling through the cracks in the slabs of wood. The breeze tickles my bare arms and I shiver, reaching behind me to drape a shawl over my shoulders. A chilly Reaping, perhaps the coldest one I remember. I almost froze when I went out to find pecans for the pie I'm making later today.

My dress for the Reaping is a patterned light blue and pink, one of my mother's old ones that Pa refuses to get rid of. I tried pulling back my hair into a bun to get it out of my face, but I'll need Raven's help once he wakes up.

With both of the men of the house still asleep, I relax at the table, staring at streaks of sunlight on the floor. It's strange to not be at school this time of day, or even out in the fields learning how to swing an axe, which we sometimes do in the afternoons. When I was a child, Reaping day was a rare day off from school, when Raven saved up his money and bought me desserts from the downtown shops and we gorged ourselves all evening. But as I got older and I realized what the Reaping actually meant, I became the one making the desserts with my own hands, trying to dispel some of Raven's worries and my own about his safety. And now… now I'm in the Reaping pool as well.

My heart clenches when I think about it, but I have to remind myself that i only have one slip of paper in that glass bowl. Raven has several, having taken out tesserae for all three of us for years, but he refused to let me sign up for any. I suspect that will change as the years go by and the money runs out even more, but he seems dead set on keeping away from the Justice Building during the winter months, when food is really hard to come by.

I hear someone start to rustle around in the bedroom and I perk up to see who it is. Pa is grumbling to himself as he limps into the main room with his cane in place of the stump of a leg, plopping down into the chair opposite me. I feel myself tense a little, but I don't say anything.

"What's for breakfast?" he asks gruffly.

"There's some bread left over from last night," I say softly, not meeting his eyes.

"I had that last night," he says, a hint of anger in his voice. "Are you making something else for tonight?"

"Pecan pie," I mumble. My fingers interlace in my lap, my dark hair falling into my eyes.

"Thank god," he says, stretching back in his chair. His stump shifts out from underneath the table and I avert my eyes. Injury isn't uncommon in Seven, but losing a limb entirely is a real tragedy even here. The other lumberjacks tried to save as much money as they could to give us after the accident, but eventually they simply couldn't give anymore while still supporting their own families. That's why Raven had to start working, even though he's underage.

Apparently sensing my despair, Raven wanders into the room with bleary eyes, his bright red hair mussed on his head and sticking up in all directions. I try to hide my smile as he sits down at the table, rubbing his eyes.

"You'll need to get dressed," our father barks. "You slept in too late."

I bite my tongue and don't mention that he was asleep too just minutes ago, but Raven just nods in acknowledgement and heads back into the bedroom. I watch him go with a critical eye, noticing how he lumbers slowly as if in pain, or possibly just exhausted. He had stayed in the forests late last night in order to make up for today's lost work, and had come home with a nasty cough. He had tried to hide in from me as he climbed into our bed, but I could feel him convulsing through the night with coughs and what seemed like a feverish shiver. Perhaps spending so much time outdoors is finally getting to him, especially combined with the stress of having to hide his age. He bribes a few Peacekeepers to let him work despite being only seventeen, but there's still the possibility of being caught at any time.

I take a deep breath as I get up from the table and slip into my shoes, the only pair I have. A black pair of dress shoes that I usually wear to school. Raven always tells me with a smile that when I turn eighteen, I'll have to clamber into the woods with an axe with them strapped to my feet as they fill with leaves and branches and get stuck in the mud.

I peer outside for Dinah, the only person I trust aside from Raven. She lives not too far from here, with her family and they're loud, howling dog, and usually her parents walk past our house on their way to the forests every morning. But today, even the dog is silent.

Then quite suddenly, something grabs me from behind and I startle for a second, though I know who it is before even turning around. Raven grins down at me, his flaming red hair coiffed back now in a way I haven't seen since he dropped out of school. He's dressed in a light green shirt that compliments his eyes and his work pants, but they look nice, like a part of a real outfit that some of the wealthier families could afford.

"Scaredy Sparrow!" Raven laughs, loud and tumbling like a waterfall over stone, the first sound I remember hearing as a child and one I'll never grow tired of hearing.

"I wasn't scared, just surprised," I say thinly, turning away but hearing the glee in his next words.

"Sure you were," he lightly hits my arm. "Are we ready to go or what?"

Behind us, our father grumbles something about needing to get dressed himself, pretty typical for mornings like these. After the disjointed sound of his footstep and thud of his cane disappear into the other room, I fell Raven shift behind me.

"How has he been?" he asks me, the undercurrent of his voice steeped in veiled anger, something I only hear every so often from him. "What did he say before I got up?"

"Nothing, just wanted breakfast," I say, still staring out the window at the grass gently rolls in the wind. I shiver as some of the cool air blows through the cracks in the wood slabs of our cabin, raising goosebumps on my skin.

I know Raven worries about me, about what our father might do during days like this, when tensions are high. But why would he raise a hand now, if he's never before, just because one of us might be Reaped? He clearly doesn't care about us.

But a tiny voice in the back of my head, that I manage to ignore most of the time, whispers to me that he does care, he just doesn't know how to feel it. Because how could he admit to himself that he loves the girl that killed his wife coming into this world?

 _Raven Lavaleé (17)- D7M_

"I'm going outside," Sparrow says, her voice light and airy as always but as firm as tree. She opens the door our father made from a piece of scrap metal from a Peacekeeper car and walks through the high green grass of the field that surrounds our home. She runs her fingers through the tips of the strands, disappearing into the forest. Probably searching for more pecans.

My stomach growls a little from hunger, but I ignore it. Not eating now for some good food later is worth it. Sparrow's cooking is always worth it. It reminds me of our mother's cooking, even though she never tasted it.

I glance down at my shirt and feel my eyes go wide. I desperately try to scrub away the spots of blood before Sparrow returns or our father comes out from the bedroom. I lick my fingers and hold the shirt out from my body, scrubbing it mercilessly. The stain lightens up a little, but is still clearly visible. Starting to panic a little, feel myself start to cough again, this time reaching up to cover my mouth. The coughing wracks my body even more than it had this morning, when I tried to muffle it in my pillow and ended up staining it with blood.

The coughs are so strong that I have to hold onto the table to keep from falling over. I plop into a chair when I feel it start to end, drawing my hand away to see blood pooled in my palm. I quickly stumble over to the basin before realizing I can't simply dump it here. I limp outside of the house, wandering into the woods in the opposite direction of Sparrow, wiping my hand on the grass. The bright vibrant red contrasted with the natural green seems unnatural. I groan as I sit on the ground for a moment, bowing my head in between my knees. I can't have Sparrow worrying about me on Reaping day. I'll be fine for a few more days before telling her what's happening- not that I understand it either.

I hear a rustling noise behind me and stand quickly, squinting in the canopy of the woods. The sunlight dappled through the trees, illuminating the bird that is fluttering above me. It chirps cheerfully before flying away, its song echoing through the trees. A little sparrow, like the ones that our mother wanted to name her daughter after. I remember her talking so excitedly about my younger sibling who was on the way, who would also be named after one of the birds who frequents the woods around our house.

I slowly stand, feeling my vision go out for a few seconds, my legs wobbling .But it passes soon and them I'm fine aside from my stomach churning a little. I stagger back to the house, managing to walk straight as I pass through the doorway.

"What the hell were you doing?" Pa asks gruffly, sitting as the table in his best clothes. His pant leg drapes over his stump and onto the floor.

"I thought I heard something, but it was just a bird," I say, leaning against the counter and trying to seem normal.

He harrumphs. "You should know by now I can tell when you're lying."

"Doesn't mean I have to stop," I say with a weak smile. He doesn't respond or even look at me, but I'm used to that.

The door opens in my peripheral vision, so quiet I might not have noticed if I wasn't used to Sparrow's timid way of moving through the house. She walks to the counter and places a handful of pecans on the countertop. "That's all I could find," she says, her dark hair falling into her eyes.

"It will be enough for a pie," I reassure her. "Sadie will love it." Sadie is my best friend who often eats with us some evenings. She loves anything sweet.

"Sadie will love anything you feed her," Sparrow says dismissively, sorting the pecans.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask in fake anger, relishing in the way she rolls her eyes. It's nice to seem normal on Reaping day- and I'm quite used to Sparrow knowing something I don't.

We should leave soon unless we want to be late."

The three of us head out slowly, always impeded by Pa's walking cane that has trouble traversing over the uneven ground of Seven. As we pass the Fevres, their daughter Dinah comes rushing out to hug Sparrow. She smiles awkwardly, but I can tell that she's pleased. The only person that can get Sparrow to smiles like that besides me is Dinah, and I'm appreciative of her for that.

"Are you coming soon?" Sparrow asks.

"Yes, I'll see you there, okay?"

She nods and waves as we continue on our way, the Fevre family dog howling at us as we leave. As we pass more houses, slowly becoming more tightly packed as we reach the inner city where the merchants set up shops and the poor people live in run down apartments, I start to feel woozy again. My vision whites out for a moment, and I stop to place my hand against a nearby tree.

"Raven? Are you okay?" I hear Sparrow trying to speak to me.

"I'm fine," I gasp out, the white already receding. The sunlight pours back in my line of sight, obstructing my Sparrow's frowning face.

"What is it this time, son?" Pa asks, sounding irritated. "Having trouble walking from your crazy night last night?"

"I was working all night last night and you know it!" I snap, lurching forward to continue walking. "I just felt faint for a moment, that's all."

Pa snorts and limps onward without a glance back at me. I turn to Sparrow, who's gazing up at me with worry apparent in her vibrant blue eyes.

"Are you okay?" she repeats.

"I'm fine, I promise," I say, reaching down to ruffle her hair. She bats my hand away but doesn't smile, continuing to stare at me suspiciously as we continue on the path. She's too smart for her own good, and being smart isn't a great quality for here in Seven. With a future that's mainly confined to cutting down trees for upwards of twelve hours a day, a brain is hardly needed.

Maybe that's why I ended up with whatever ailment is plaguing me. Bribing the Peacekeepers to let me work underage is dangerous enough as it is, but in order to make money for the bribes I have to work harder and longer, ending up in some of the places deep in the woods and swamps that we're not supposed to go in. I always thought it was just a Capitol plot to keep us out of lucrative areas for whatever reason, but now I'm wondering if there might have been some truth to their warnings of health risks.

Or maybe I'm just exhausted from working nonstop for years.

Whatever the case, I have bigger things to worry about. The Reaping is here, and I have far more than just seven slips of paper in that bowl. Who will take care of Sparrow if I leave forever? I know Pa surely won't. My blood boils when I think of how he treats her, all just because our mother died giving birth to her. He treats her as a disease to the family, as if women don't die of childbirth all the time here. Quite honestly I think Ma would just be happy that Sparrow survived, and now has grown into an intelligent, beautiful girl. But Pa doesn't see it that way. He never will. I'm the only person she has, and I'm sick with dozens of names in that glass bowl.

 _Sparrow Lavaleé (12)- D7F_

Raven thinks he can fool me, but he should know better. I've known him for twelve years now, with him as my primary caretaker. There was a time when I was younger that I thought he was invincible, but not anymore.

Still, we have bigger fish to fry, so to speak. After we enjoy our Reaping dinner, I'll try to talk to him about taking some time off from work. Maybe I could go around and sell pastries, or even offer to do the homework of the other kids in our neighborhood. I've done it a few times before to buy Raven a birthday present, which usually constitutes a lollipop from the candy store or maybe a small wooden toy when we were younger.

"Sparrow, keep up!" Pa snarls from up ahead, not bothering to mention that Raven is going the same pace as me. Raven grabs my hand, squeezing too tight, eyebrows furrowed in the direction of our dear father.

"It's okay," I say softly. "We do need to hurry."

The town appears almost out of nowhere, wooden shops and tenements and the more important stone buildings, like the Justice Building and Peacekeeper headquarters. We march into the Square resolutely, our father leaving us before we even realize he's gone. My heart is starting to beat fast as we near the Peacekeepers at the entrance to the Square.

"Just give them your hand and it will be over soon. You don't even have to say anything," Raven says, squeezing my hand once before letting go. "I'll see you afterwards."

"Right," I say. I don't like blood, but it's foolish to be afraid of a little prick on the finger.

"Next!" a female Peacekeeper up ahead yells. I step forward, extending my right hand out to her. She grabs it roughly and inserts the needle into the pad of my pointer finger, making me wince. She presses it onto a piece of paper and waves me onward. She doesn't even make eye contact with me.

I step into the Square feeling somehow more grounded than before. The hard part is over. There's no way I'll be Reaped- the odds are in my favor as much as they can be.

I amble over to the twelve-year old section in the front of the Square, where all of my classmates are roped in together like a group of cattle being herded for slaughter. Everyone's faces look a little green, their eyes wide and glassy. I understand the feeling, but I try not to let it show. I'm used to hiding my emotions anyway to seem like the strong, smart girl Raven and everyone else expects me to be.

A few people are chatting as we wait for the ceremony to begin, but I don't bother to talk to anyone. I don't have the capacity to make conversations with many people, especially those I don't know, and especially when we're all packed together with no escape.

On the podium, the group of assembled victors stand awkwardly to the side. Johanna Mason, our latest, looks bored with her arms crossed and eyes glittering in the light. I know she's probably still upset that our chance for a victor was stolen from us last year when the girl from Four gored him to death with a spear. But she had to have known even before then that he wouldn't win- for all his strength, he was too focused on saving his allies rather than trying to win the crown himself. I imagine that would be quite an irony for a mentor. I tilt my head a little in curiosity as I watch Johanna's eyes scan the crowd. In the arena, she was a cold-blooded killer, and even now she enjoys a grand reputation, but she surely can't enjoy watching her tributes mauled in their respective arenas.

"Sparrow!"

My head turns as Dinah rushes into the roped section. She pulls me into a hug and I grin despite myself. "Hey, Dinah."

"How are you feeling?" she asks right away, never one for beating around the bush. "Scared? I am."

"We have no reason to be scared," I tell her. Dinah hasn't taken any tesserae either. But I imagine it will change for the both of us as we get older- many families intend to save their children from extra names in the bowl, but eventually the temptation and hunger become too much.

"You're really not afraid at all?" Dinah asks skeptically. "Even for Raven?"

Blunt as always. "Raven can take care of himself."

Dinah shrugs and looks toward the stage. Despite myself, I glance over to the seventeen-year old's section, where Raven's bright ginger hair is easy to spot. His face is pale, possibly from fear. I turn back to face forwards, purposely keeping my mind away from all the possibilities.

The escort prances up to the mic not a moment after, smile wide and terrifying. "Happy Hunger Games, everyone! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

The words put a bitter taste in my mouth, especially as we watch the video about the Dark Days on the giant projector, the shots making sure to focus on the gritty faces of lumberjacks as they are shot down by Capitol soldiers in pristine white uniforms. As the carnage clears, a new field of trees starts to rise from the ashes, flowers blooming in the sunlight.

It's a load of shit, but the escort seems to love it.

"Is everyone excited?" he asks, eyes bright. "I know I am!"

Everyone is stubbornly silent, but he isn't deterred. He bounces over to the girl's bowl with a chime of, "Ladies first!" The slip is in his hand before anyone can pray for their safety.

As he unfolds it at the microphone, everyone waits with bated breath, the only sound the wind whistling through the trees in the background.

"Sparrow Lavaleé!"

My breath catches in my throat. I can feel Dinah grappling for my hand, but I push her away and try to retain some of my dignity. I suppose it doesn't matter if the odds are in your favor or not- even one entry can be dangerous.

I walk stoically to the stage, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd. Nobody likes it when a twelve-year old is Reaped, but perhaps they will be more hopeful this year. That kid from Eight won last year, after all.

When I stare out over the heads of the district's populace, I realize I'm looking out at everyone that has ever known me, every place I've ever been. And now I'll be leaving, probably never to return.

"Wonderful!" the escort trills. "Would anyone like to volunteer for this adorable young lady?"

The audience is silent, as usual. The escort seems delighted by this, apparently thrilled to have such a "sweetheart" as one of his charges this year. He dances over to the boy's bowl, and I don't have time to wish safety for Raven when someone else's name is being called out.

"Aspen Balsam!"

The boy is a shaking thirteen-year old, whose eyes express the same fear and shock I'm feeling right now. The escort seems a little deflated at the prospect of two young tributes, but still welcomes him to the stage nonetheless.

"What a fine-looking boy. Would anyone like to volunteer-"

" _I volunteer_!"

I could recognize that loud, booming voice anywhere. Raven marches resolutely to the stage, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes burning with rage.

"Oh my!" the escort proclaims. Poor Aspen hurries off the stage as soon as he can, relief apparent in his eyes now.

Raven grabs the mic from the escort's hand, growling into it with an anger I've hardly ever seen from him before. "My name is Raven Lavaleé and I will do anything to protect my sister. Do you hear that, you Career bastards!" he yells. "Do you hear that!?"

The mic is cut off just before the escort snatches it back, his smile uneasy like he's not sure what to do. "Well, that's a very threatening start for sure. You two are brother and sister?"

He looks to me as if to confirm that this man isn't insane. I nod shortly, and he visibly relaxes. "How sweet! You two will make a great team. But you still have to shake hands!"

Raven turns towards me and hugs me instead, and I can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly with either fury, shock, sadness, or maybe all of them.

Before we know it, some Peacekeepers are forcing us back into the Justice Building, a place I've never been in and never wanted to see. One of the men dressed in white grabs my arm and tries to pry me out of Raven's arms, but he objects loudly and holds onto me tighter.

"We'll say goodbye in the same room?" he shouts.

The Peacekeeper roughly pulls me to him, so violently I can feel my head bounce off of his his hard breastplate. "Each tribute has their own room," he says stonily, pulling me along.

"Raven!" I call out, watching him struggle against the Peacekeepers. For once i feel tears start to prick my eyes. "Raven…"

The Peacekeeper shoves me into a tiny room in the hallway and slams the door shut. I feel the tears start to stream down my face as I look around the room. Diagrams of trees bisected and taken apart, guides on how to classify them, techniques of building.

I sit on a polished wooden bench on the opposite wall, the dark oak something that no one else in Seven could ever afford. I run my fingers over the smooth surface reverently, tracing the veins of the dead tree. How could Raven do that? Just offer himself up to die? Is it because he thinks he can protect me, or that somehow we'll both walk out of the arena together, leaving the disaster in our wake like we always have? He must know that is impossible this time.

There's a knock at the door and I sniffle softly, trying to seem clear headed. "Yes?"

To my surprise, it's not a kindly Peacekeeper, different from the one before, who's come to take me away to the train. It's my father, his gray eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow, confusion, and perhaps some relief.

He stands there silently for a moment before the door shuts behind him. It seems to startle him into motion, his cane thumping rhythmically against the floor until he stands in front of me. I naturally tense up, wondering if he will scold me for being Reaped and taking away future income for the household, throw something at the wall and blame me for my mother's death. Or if, for the first time, he will finally raise a hand to me.

"Sparrow…" he says. The wrinkles on his face seem so much more prominent now than ever before. "You are my daughter. I know we… haven't seen eye to eye many times. But- but just know that… I am your father."

He holds out something to me, something I know well- a picture of my mother, one of the only ones we have that he usually carries in his pocket. In it, she laughs at an unheard joke, possibly something my father said to her. I've never heard him tell a joke that wasn't mean, but maybe he was different before.

"Thank you," I say, feeling overwhelmed again.

He nods once, then turns to leave. But before his cane starts to thunder on the floor again, he says, "Anything you'd like me to tell the Fevre girl? They're not letting her in."

I feel choked up. "Just tell her to take care of herself," I say, just wanting him to leave so I can cry in peace.

He nods again and finally exits the room. I put my head between my knees and start to sob, unable to stop.

 _Raven Lavaleé (17)- D7M_

I don't think I've ever felt so enraged in my life than when Sparrow's name was pulled from that bowl. First my mother, a woman I barely remember, was taken from me by chance, and by extent my father. And now my sister as well? The Capitol cannot take everything from me. I will die before Sparrow dies an agonizing, bloody death.

My knee bounces rapidly on the floor as I wait for the Peacekeepers to come for me. That asshole that dragged Sparrow away will pay for what he did. No one is supposed to harm tributes as they are practically sacred until the Games. If I report him to the escort or the mentors, surely he will face the consequences.

The door opens suddenly, and I'm abruptly bombarded by a tall blonde girl, tears running down her face. "Raven!" she cries. "How could you do that?"

"I had to, Sadie," I say softly, holding her elbow. "You know Sparrow is everything to me."

But Sadie is inconsolable. I want to tell her to look after our father while Sparrow and I are gone, but I can't bring myself to ask something of her in this state. I know she will do it anyway.

"Please do your best to come home," she asks, blue eyes filled with tears. "If Sparrow… if Sparrow doesn't… then promise me you won't give up."

"I promise," I say, but the words ring hollow. What do I have to live for if not Sparrow? What have I dedicated my existence to, my time, my health?

Sadie sits with me until her time is up, as we mull over our times together throughout the years. We've been best friends our whole lives, and Sadie is still in school while I had to drop out.

"Make something of yourself," I tell her before she leaves, her face blotchy and stained with tears.

After she leaves, I don't expect to see anyone else. My life is so dedicated to working that there is no one else I'm connected to.

But the world surprises me when the door opens one more time. My father is the one behind it. He awkwardly limps over to me and holds out something without saying a word. I gingerly take it and gaze into the eyes of my mother, caught at an unplanned moment with a smile on her face. It's one of the pictures Pa carries with him.

"Is the other one for Sparrow?" I ask roughly.

"Yes," he says, actually sounding upset. "You shouldn't have volunteered, Raven."

I look up to glare at him with the force of all the years I've kept silent. "And done nothing? She's my sister! She's your daughter!"

"Now you'll both die," is all he says.

I lean back in my bench in defeat. "Get out."

He does so quietly except for the thump of his cane. The door shuts softly and I put my face in my hands. All I want to do is see Sparrow.

Suddenly my chest and throat feel tight and I barely cover my mouth as I start to cough again, this time worse than any of the others. When I pull my hand away, it's stained with sticky red blood.

Little does my father know that I was destined to die in the first place.

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review if you liked the tributes.**

 **Did you all know that tesserae is actually the Latin word for the tiny pieces of stone in a mosaic? I learned that today and I'm trying to figure out how Suzanne Collins made the connection between mosaics and entries in the Reaping. Maybe it's because all the slips together make up the Reaping pool? But that's just a thought. xD**

 **Thanks you for reading!**


	10. D8 Reaping: Up to the Top

**Hey everyone! Welcome to District Eight. Thanks so much to Tyquavis and .Richards for creating these fantastic tributes!**

* * *

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

The early morning is the best time for painting. Kaine shakes his can of spray paint before making a bright red line on the cement, a bloody gash across the eyes of Eight's fat mayor that he had just completed. I chuckle as he continues to slice the picture in parts to accentuate the grotesqueness of the graffito, his comically short arms crossed in his lap and pudgy stomach distended over his lap. It's an exaggerated copy of a piece of propaganda that was posted a few weeks ago in preparation for the Games, a portrait of the mayor in his luxurious house as Peacekeepers are fitted into their pristine uniforms behind him by factory workers, everyone smiling and harmonious. The poster hadn't gone over well among the graffiti artists such as ourselves.

"All it needs is a few Peacekeepers beating a little kid behind him," I comment with a snort.

"Do you want to get arrested?" Kaine asks me, but he's grinning. He probably would take the challenge if I dared him. But as a matter of fact, I don't feel like getting whipped in the street.

"Are you finished yet?" Kaine asks, nodding to my own painting of a field with flowers in bloom. Unlike Kaine, I tend to stay away from more controversial topics and simply paint whatever's on my mind. Right now, it's the flowers that are peeking out of the cracks in the sidewalk that we saw on the way here.

"I'll finish later," I say, wiping my hands on my pants. These are my painting pants anyway. "The scene is too big to finish right now." I tend to take on projects that are too large for the time we have.

"Alright, we should be getting back anyway," Kaine says, squinting up at the sun. It's rising steadily, the light becoming more than just a pale illumination on the tin roofs of the abandoned factories where we paint.

"Ask your mom what she's making for dinner tonight," I tell him, already packing up all of my supplies.

"What about your own mother?" he asks me with fake indignation. "She can cook too."

"Debatable." I toss my bag of paints over my shoulder and smile at him. "I'll see you after the Reaping?"  
He salutes me without a word, our sign that the message was understood. This time, the message is that we'll meet back here afterward for some more "vandalism," as my parents call it.

Kaine and I part ways and I hurry back home, hopefully before my parents notice I'm gone. We've never gotten in ral trouble for our graffiti, but they worry incessantly. As I move away from the old factory sector and into the residential areas, the district seems to come to life. People chattering in the streets, all in their best clothes. The air around the district is strange, a combination of hope, fear, anger, and pride. After Tag Nylon's victory last year, Eight has been enjoying the perks of extra bread, oil, vegetables, and even luxuries like fruits and cakes. Apparently the tesserae rate was so low this year that the Peacekeepers started snooping around the poorer areas of town to see if they were stealing food.

But all of that comes to an end today. There will be no more imports of sustenance, no more reason to have District Eight pride, just the Sock Knight Productions puppet shows every weekend. That is, unless our tributes pull another win, which let's be honest, isn't very likely.

But unlike many of the others in the district, I'm not upset that the perks are disappearing, I'm just glad I got to enjoy them while they lasted.

I approach my apartment building, a rickety old thing that's undergone so many repairs in my mere fourteen years of living that it looks like a patchworked piece of cloth with mismatched colors and designs. My family lives on the first floor, a sign of money here in Eight. While we've never been particularly wealthy, but we've managed to get by fairly well. I've never had to take tesserae even before Tag's win, and we've never had to skip meals as far as I remember. Of course, being an only child helps, as does working at the factories as soon as I turned twelve.

The door to our apartment is open, the faint scent of waffles floating outside. I smile as I slip inside. I lied to Kaine- my mother is a great cook. She's standing at the counter with a floral apron on, humming to herself. She turns when I enter, smiling bright.

"Good morning, Flux," she gestures to the table, where my waffles are waiting. "Go ahead and eat, your father is talking to the neighbors."

"Of course." Dad can never ignore a chance to socialize.

"These look great, Mom," I say, shoveling the waffles into my mouth. She smiles pleasantly at me, watching me with concern.

"How are you feeling, Flux?" she asks me softly. "Nervous?"

I remember her asking me the same question last year and the year before. "I'm fine," I shrug. "No use in worrying."

"Very true," she says, but she herself seems on edge, leg bouncing up and down. "But it's normal to be afraid."

"Normal for you maybe," I say. It takes me a moment to realize the words may have come across as mean, but by that point she's already turned around and started washing the dishes, and I'm facing her long black dreadlocks.

I shrug to myself again, continuing to eat my waffles until my father appears in the doorway. "Everyone's excited for the party the Nylons will be throwing tonight," he says with a big grin and bright blue eyes. He plops down next to me and steals a piece of waffle from my plate. "Tag won't be there, of course, but all of the other Sock Knights will."

"Those children should be spending their childhood with their families, not off holding parties for strangers," Mom says bitterly. "You'd think they enjoy the attention."  
"They're just helping around the district," I say with a frown. I remember most of the Sock Knights, Tag included, from the grade below me in school, though I never really talked to them. They were always helping their families with whatever they could. "They're innovators, like me."

Dad laughs. "You're an innovator, huh? What exactly are you creating?"

"Excuse you, I create something every day after work!" I say with a repressed laugh myself. "What do you do beside go to bed after leaving the factory?"

He chuckles and ruffles my curly dark hair. "Sorry, dear. I should be bowing down to the artist of a generation!"

"Will the two of you stop and go get ready to leave?" my mother snaps, her brown eyes that I inherited unusually sharp. The dynamic in our house is usually balanced, but maybe today is too tense for any joking around.

I sigh as i finish my breakfast before heading to my room, a small square with barely enough room for a bed and a dresser. Thankfully I have a mirror above it to check that my hair isn't too frizzy after putting on my good white shirt and a possibly risky pair of green pants. I usually don't care too much about my appearance, but maybe if the camera catches a glimpse of me, some fashion designer in the Capitol will be impressed by my use of color. The Reaping is always so drab for a district that essentially is the home of fashion in the nation.

I hear my parents talking in the kitchen and I smile a little to myself. Even if the Hunger Games are a horrible thing, at least we all get a day off from the factories on Reaping day, and I'll get to taste Kaine's mother's pies later. It's better to try to make the most of today than spend it paralyzed with fear.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

The streets of Fog Town aren't as covered with fog as they usually are, allowing me to see farther down the street than most mornings. The pale sun illuminates the tin roofs of the tenements and silhouettes the tall factories in the distance. I never thought I would miss my time there, but I find my mind wandering to the years I sorted out buttons in the same rickety yellow chair, surrounded by the clamor of machines.

I blow smoke out the window, enjoying the contrast between the heat of the cigarette and the cool air outside. I take my last drag from the cigarette and flick it out the window, shutting the glass pane. I sigh and rub both hands over my eyes, pressing until I see the imprints of stars in my eyelids. Usually mornings are my favorite part of the day, sitting with my head out the window, breathing in the pure morning air and eating my breakfast. It's my biggest meal of the day, sometimes my only one if the club is having a difficult time making a profit. But on Reaping day, the morning is the worst part. Rita doesn't make us work on Reaping day, so the evenings, while usually filled with passing faces and apathy and acting, will tonight have good food and alcohol.

I wander back to my bed, one of the perks of working at the Club Red. If I was living on my own, I'd probably be sharing a room or a bed with three or more people. But here, I have a large bedroom and a nice twin sized bed. I recline onto the mattress, pulling the cover up to my chin and breathing in the scent of freshly washed linen. Every night, the cleaning lady washes our sheets and blankets as we eat a light dinner before going to bed. I'm glad that tonight they won't be soiled again.

There's a light rapping on my door. I sit up straight, pushing back my hair as i say, "Come in!"

The door clicks open. There's no lock, a which is strategic- no one can lock themselves in with us during their sessions. Standing on the other side is Rita, her pointed nose turned slightly up as always as she takes in the sight of me in bed.

"Have you just woken up?" she asks disdainfully.

"No, I was just lying down."

She sniffs the air, which is apparently still tinged with the smell of smoke despite my best efforts to blow it out the window. Her nose crinkles as if she wasn't the one to introduce me to smoking in the first place. "Try to be ready before we leave, Thimble," she says, closing the door.

I sigh and stand up, beginning to rummage through my closet for something suitable. I have many outfits that are designed to look expensive without actually costing much money, something that comes easily when you live in the textiles district. But most of them likely won't be appropriate for the reaping considering they look far too fanciful and decorative. Instead I go for a simple black shirt that is slightly too big for me and a pair of red dress pants. Red colors are a staple of life here at the Red- more than half my closet is in hues of pink and maroon. I close my closet door and start to change. Dressing for the Reaping isn't too different than dressing for a client. I'm still dressing for someone else to look at, it's just this time the audience is the Capitol who may or may not see me on their screen.

I try not to think about on what occasions the cameras would have me in the frame. If the guy who is Reaped is standing near me, or if he walks past the aisle where I am, or, quite possibly, if my name is one pulled from the glass bowl.

I don't even entertain the thought. I've never taken any tesserae, and there are plenty of boys who have had to take out dozens just to support their families.

 _At least they have families_ , a voice in my head whispers. I shake it away and start to comb through my unruly black hair. I used to have a family, once upon a time. Even when I was a child, my parents told me I would never have to take out tesserae. They were terrified of the Games, so much so that they decided not to have any more children out of fear of being Reaped. But it's not like anyone can plan to avoid death- they still died anyway doing their apparently harmless jobs.

Occasionally I wonder what my parents would think of my life now. Would they be worried, pleased I was well fed with a roof over my head, or simply ashamed? The thought makes my chest feel tight for a moment before I push that one away too. Reaping day makes me feel sentimental for some reason, but there's no point in wondering what they would have thought. The only way to remain sane here is to stay rational.

I lightly descend the stairs down to the main floor of the Red, which is a normal club with a dancefloor and a bar. The place is small but seems bigger without people inside it. Though Fog Town isn't exactly the wealthiest part of District Eight, there are usually a few people who have the money, the time, and the desire to escape for a night. Some of them are only here for music and alcohol, while others are here for an entirely different purpose.

Rita and the rest of her employees, my colleagues, some would say, are sitting at the bar as one of them, Aglet, tells a story about one of her craziest customers. Aglet has been here at the Red for far longer than anyone else; almost seven years, and she never runs out of stories to tell.

"Thimble, have I told you about the guy with the spatula?" she yells at me as I reach the foot of the stairs.

"Only a thousand times," I respond coldly, taking a seat in the chair closest to the door, away from everyone else. I don't see any point in trying to interact with the others. We're all here to do a job and survive, not to make friends and enemies and start petty drama like everyone else seems to think. I just stay out of it all.

Aglet just grins at me and continues telling the story to the others in animated detail. I can feel Rita's eyes on me from her seat behind the bar as she sips on a glass of wine. Some of the others are drinking too, but I'm not a fan of alcohol or any substance of that nature, really. Rita's jet black hair falls into her sharp eyes as she takes another sip, keen eyes watching me closely for some reason. Sometimes I wonder if she suspects that I will try to quit or run off. It's pretty obvious I hate life here, but what choice do I have? If she thinks I have an alternative to turn to, she's wrong.

"We should leave," she eventually announces, standing and placing her long black coat around her shoulders. The other prostitutes gather their own belongings as I simply stand shrug into my jacket, shivering slightly from the cool morning air that wafts in through the door.

"Ready, Thimble?" Rita asks as she walks past me. I nod resolutely as we begin our journey to the Square.

It's always a little humiliating when we have excursions like this. All of us traveling together, Rita leading us like a mother hen with sharp eyes and a punishing glare. It's obvious who we are and what we do, even to people who have never visited Club Red. I ignore the judgement stares from everyone around us as we walk to the Square. When we reach the admission line, those that are past Reaping age head to the back with Rita. Me and a few others stay behind, waiting for the line up ahead to move. I distance myself from the others, purposefully not listening to their nervous chatter.

When it's my turn to have my finger pricked, the Peacekeeper does so without looking at me. I don't even flinch- I've experience much worse pain in the past two years of working for Rita.

The middle of the Square is alive with activity. Everyone seems nervous or angry or even excited. Perhaps they think the District will have an increased chance of a victory this year since we won last year. But I wouldn't put my money on it if I was one of the reedy old men hanging at the back of the Square placing bets; a double victory for any district is very rare, even for Career districts. There's no use in getting their hopes up.

I find the sixteen year olds section and stand to the side, my brain as blank as can be. I've gotten quite good at distancing myself from stressful situations; I just retreat back into the little space in my mind where no thoughts reside. It doesn't happen accidentally, but I quite like using it so that I don't appear nervous in front of clients.

As I passively listen to the conversation around me, I realize just how different my life is from others my age. Talking about parents, social lives, even jobs that are far different from mine. Of course, I had all of those things once, but not anymore. One fire at the textile factory my parents worked at changed everything. And one year of living on the street was enough to convince me that living at the Red wasn't that bad of a deal.

As the crowd starts to cheer suddenly, I look up to the stage with tired eyes to see Tag Nylon waving at everyone. He looks exhausted himself, but manages to put on a smile for the cameras. Or perhaps he really cares that the citizens of Eight see him as a champion for the textile district.

 _Flux Dubois (14)- D8F_

As Tag Nylon shuffles to stand next to the other three living victors, the mayor steps to the microphone and clears his throat. The crowd quiets down suddenly from a loud clamor to being dead silent. The only person that claps is the escort, who has a giant plastic grin plastered to her face. I feel myself chuckle a little as the mayro begins his speech. Kaine really did do a good job capturing his likeness this morning.

The mayor gives the same speech he's been giving for as long as I can remember. The video that follows is the same one that I watched before my previous two Reapings as well, with the same cheesy voiceover and stupid message of unity at the end. I find myself trying not to laugh as it comes to a close, thirteen people dressed in comically exaggerated outfits to represent the districts and Capitol standing in the shape of the Panem emblem.

"Happy Hunger Games, everyone!" the escort practically screams into the mic, making me jump. "May the odds be ever in your favour!"  
Her Capitol accent just makes everyone sound that much funnier. I have to hold in my laughter, motioning to other people that I'm okay when they start to look my way in concern.

"Shall we start with the ladies?" the escort says as if it's a revolutionary proposal. Her heels click as she prances to the glass bowl and snatches up the first slip she can reach, apparently quite eager. She skips back to the microphone and unfolds the slip, clearing her throat before saying with excitement, "Flux DuBois!"

I freeze up. My heart starts beating faster as I try to break out of my trance. I'm just hallucinating- there's no way she called my name. But the path of the other girls make for me to walk to the aisle says otherwise. I'm shaking as I make my way through the crowd, walking stiffly to the stage. Sweat is running down my back in cool rivulets by the time I reach the microphone, and I can feel it beading on my forehead as well. I realize my whole body is shaking.

"How wonderful!" the escort chirps. "Would anyone like to volunteer for this delightful little girl?"

The audience is dead silent this time. Perhaps all hopes that we would win another Games have roughly collided with the realization that two children will be sent to the arena regardless of chances of victory.

"It seems you're staying with me, Flux!" the escort cries, sounding much too happy at that prospect. I suddenly feel like I might faint, and i have to clutch the sides of my pants to stay grounded.

"And now for the boys!"

I barely have time to register what is happening before she's reading the boy's name: "Thimble Brier!"

A pale, slender sixteen year old emerges from the crowd, stiff as a board. His eyes reflect the same panic in mine, but he doesn't let his fear show otherwise.

"What a handsome young man!" the escort remarks. She asks for a volunteer, but again no one comes forth. This spindly, weak boy will be my district partner.

"I believe it's time for the two of you to shake hands!"

When Thimble puts his hand in mine, I can feel the nervous sweat and I'm sure he can feel the same in mine. His eyes are glassy as we're herded into the Justice Building, and I feel myself start to panic. As claustrophobia sets in, my breath comes quicker and quicker. Peacekeepers lead me down a long, narrow hallway to a lonely room, which they push me into without a word.

The room is small but open, showcasing various feats of textiles of the walls. An old Peacekeeper uniform encased in glass faces me from across the room.

I collapse onto the couch against the wall and immediately burst into tears. This wasn't supposed to happen to me. I wasn't supposed to be Reaped- I only had three slips in the bowl! Out of thousands! How is that possible?

At least I will be trained by the latest victor, beloved by all and cleverest than most. I'll stand a chance. I don't care how many people I have to kill to come home- I will do it.

The door flies open as my parents burst in, both already crying and reaching for me. I feel myself start to cry harder and all three of us become a heap of tears and snot for a few minutes.

Finally I push them away, wiping my eyes and trying to shake away the shock. It happened- I was Reaped. There's no use in being upset about it now.

"My little Flux," my father says through a sob. The old nickname manages to tear my heart apart just a little bit more, but I just put a hand on his shoulder and look into his eyes.

"You'll wait for me, won't you? I'll be coming back."

"Of course we'll wait for you," he cries, hugging me tight. I feel my mother join and they continue to cry over me until the Peacekeepers come to take them away.

"Remember Flux, we love you!" my mother shouts as the door clicks shut.

I close my eyes tight. I have to remember the last looks on their faces, their devastated but ultimately hopeful expressions. They know that I can do this.

After them comes Kaine, his faces scrunched up in that way he does when he's trying not to cry. I've seen it too many times not to know. "Flux…" he sniffles, drawing me into a hug.

I have to keep the tears at bay as well when I think of how far we've come, and all the time we've spent together. The hours we spent at the factory sewing clothes on their automatic machines, the years we've sat beside each other in our school desks learning about the fibers from which the textiles are made. The time we've spent spraying colors onto walls of drab Eight buildings, just trying to bring something bright and creative into our world.

"I brought you something," he chokes out, holding up a picture that I remember well. It's one that we took after finishing a particularly large painting. In the picture, we stand on either side of the abstract explosion of color. It's still where we painted it, on the side of an abandoned garage in Fog Town. Some other artists have even added to it since then.

"I'll bring it with me," I promise him, clutching the photo close to my chest. "And I'll bring it back to you."

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

I don't expect anyone to come see me before the send me to the train station. Who would come? My coworkers, who think I'm a cold statue with an icy glare? My clients, the men and women who pay to spend a night with me when they can't find anyone else? Maybe the man down the street that sells pastries who I visit every now and then when I have some extra money on hand?  
I'm not surprised that none of them come. But I am surprised when Rita's face pokes in the door, her eyes fixing me with a strange expression.

"Hello?" I say, sounding somewhat bored. If she's come to tell me off for being picked and stealing her means of profit, maybe I'll finally let her have a piece of my mind as well.

"Hello, Thimble," she says as she closes the door behind her. She takes a deep breath and walks over to me, sitting across from me in a wooden chair. "How are you feeling?"

I eye her suspiciously. "Fine."

"You'll love the Capitol. Just… keep your _profession_ a secret, alright?" she asks, eyes almost pleading. "If someone asks, just tell them you work at a club."  
"I will," I say. I don't care at all about the Red's business, but I'm not going to go around telling everyone I'm a prostitute. That would be a good way to turn away sponsors.

"And Thimble…" she says hesitantly. "Do your best, okay?" She pulls out a silver locket, expensive, probably made in another district or the Capitol, it's surface shiny and reflective. When she opens it, there's a small photograph inside of me and my parents. I know it- everyone has to give something to Rita as a kind of security deposit before they can live at the Red. Something that's important to them, that they'll want back if they ever leave. This picture of me and my family is the only one I had, and I had practically nothing else to give.

I snatch the locket out of her hands, rubbing my thumb over the glassy picture I haven't seen in two years. My mother's smile is still full of joy, frozen in time along with my father's awkward wave to the camera. Some of my teeth are missing in my smile. Behind us is the little makeshift school that my mother made in an abandoned building in Fog Town. She used to teach all of the street kids there that couldn't go to regular school. Even I was taught there- my parents were terrified of the Capitol's propaganda as well as the Reaping.

"I tried to find a piece of jewelry I had that fits the photo, but the Capitol might have better ones," Rita says with a sad smile.

"You didn't have to give me one at all," I murmur, almost to myself.

"No, but I wanted to give you something," she says. "It may not be obvious, but I do care for you, Thimble, as I do most of my charges. I look after you day in and day out, and believe it or not, I don't want you to die."

I look up at her. Her dark eyes seem strange, like perhaps she's telling the truth.

"If I come back alive," I tell her slowly. "I won't work for you anymore."

"I don't expect any less," she says with a laugh. "But you'll work for the Capitol, Thimble. And some people say that's a much worse deal after all."

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 **Over halfway done with the Reapings! Only four more to go and we'll be on the train to the Capitol.**

 **I know these updates are coming slowly but please bear with me. I've been very busy this semester, but I'm hoping to write more quickly in the coming weeks. Thanks so much for reading as always, and leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter!**


	11. D9 Reaping: Shining Like a Fiery Beacon

**Hello everyone! Sorry about the delayed update. I had exams last week and it really hit me hard. But I'm off for a few weeks now, so I hope to be done with the Reapings before school starts again. Then we can move on to the interactions between the tributes, which is always fun.**

 **I hope you enjoy District Nine! Thanks to CragmiteBlaster and PaxZola for creating these tributes.**

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 _Blossom Uraraka (15)- D9F_

The night is long. I knew I wouldn't sleep, but I wasn't prepared for how long the night would be. Sitting up in bed, watching the moon outside our cracked glass window, possibly for the last time. The elders say the moon is our enemy, the wild woman who chases away the burning sun every night before he finally defeats her to rise each morning, but I've always felt connected to her. Maybe that means the elders are right about me.

My chest feels tight at the thought. I've never felt like a true part of the Skull Cult, but this is my home, my family. Now I've lost everything, all due to things I can't control. But I didn't ask to be born here. I didn't ask to have flaming red hair that 'mocks the power of the great fire' or to gaze too longingly at other girls while we gather grain in the fields, or think the moon is pretty. None of that were choices, not really.

But the Cult doesn't care either way. The great fire has told the elders that I am dangerous, something that I have suspected for a long time. Years, even, of strange, suspicious looks from the Elders during rituals, sacrifices. Last Reaping day, the person we burned was a boy in his early twenties who was planning to leave the cult and join a male lover he had met somehow. I remember his screams as he burned to a crisp for all to see, but I remember more clearly the faces of the Elders as they stared at me, as if a warning. _Change your ways or you will end up the same way._

But I know liking other girls isn't the actual problem that they have with me- the hair is the real marker. Anyone with red hair is put under a microscopic lense, always suspected of being a witch regardless of how many times they've shown loyalty to the skulls and the great fire. I've simply taken it too far by being too clever. Making new ways to harvest the grain faster, overfilling my quota for the day, all things that a young girl in the Skull Cult can be criticized for. I only wish I had known that as a child, instead of thinking myself invincible.

Maybe I am the witch they say I am. Maybe I deserve to burn to death tonight, to appease the setting sun and allow us to survive to see another Reaping day. Tributes aren't the only people that are Reaped- ever year, an unlucky soul is chosen by the elders to nourish the sun.

I watch as the moon slowly sinks into the waving fields of grain, and the sun peeks its shy head above the clouds. It's rays warm my face as I stare out the window, hearing my sisters start to shift in their bed next to mine. Paresh sits up and rubs her eyes with a yawn. She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, but doesn't acknowledge me. She stretches before standing up, shaking Twiggy awake.

"It's time to get up," she says, waiting until the oldest among us also sits on the side of the bed, ignoring me completely. They both head out to the main room of the cabin where our mother will make them breakfast. But not me. Eversince the Elders announced a week ago that I would be the one sacrificed for the ritual tonight, they have acted like I don't exist. I've had to scrounge for leftovers after my family eats after each meal.

But my stomach hurts too much this morning to eat. I don't think I'll be having any special last meal to speak of- just a few days of eating bread crumbs and raisins and milk from our goats. Not that I necessarily care- I just want to live.

I sit in bed for another hour or so before deciding to get up, slowly dressing in my usual outfit of brown that everyone in the cult wears. Bright colors are thought to mock the brightness of the great fire. I pull on my shoes just as people start milling around outside. The air is light and cheery, like it usually is on Reaping day. No one in the cult has been Reaped since its foundation a few decades ago, lieky due to the fact that no one needs to take out tesserae. We're completely self-sustaining here, and the government of Nine lets us exist since we meet and exceed our quotas in the fields without draining resources from the rest of the District.

Without a reason to be afraid of the Reaping, the day has instead become a cheerful day in the cult. A day off from work in the fields, special holiday food made by your mother, and finally a former cult member set on fire at sunset, screaming as their life is torn away from them by the great fire.

Of course, no one ever says that Reaping day is a designated day for a sacrifice. It just happens that way, as a coincidence.

I head out into the main room of our cabin, furnished with a wooden table and a hearth that is hardly ever lit in the spring and summer times. This morning, a chilly one, the fire burns low in the grate. I watch it, mesmerized, as the flame dances freely. Will my soul dance just as marvelously after the fire burns it out of my body? They say that the souls consumed by flame are forgiven of wrongdoing, even witchcraft, which is why we must be burned. There's no other way for us to be saved.

No one remarks my entering, all sitting at the table with breakfast. I don't bother asking for some or trying to take it for myself- they will pretend not to hear me and snatch away the food if I try to grab it. It's almost scary how easy it was for them to turn on me. They won't even grieve me when I'm gone.

I sit in the corner of the house, watching the fire with sick interest. If I walk outside, I will be just as ignored or even mistreated, with people spitting at me or hurling insults. Cult life isn't exactly loving in the first place, but I've never felt so out of place here before. I sadly recall the times that Paresh and Twiggy would take me out to the woods on the edge of the cult property and play out the myths of the great fire. As the youngest, I would always have to be the evil witch that the great fire would burn away, while each of my sisters took turns as the great fire and the skull god. Despite my role as the bad guy, I still always had the time of my life and remember the giant smiles on my sisters' faces as we romped around in the trees. Time away from the adults, from the constant work and strict rules imposed by our parents and the elders. It was an escape from our harsh world, if just for an hour or so every week.

Now my sisters won't even look at me. Maybe we practiced burning me too many times that now it's second nature to them.

As the time for the Reaping draws closer, my family starts getting ready to leave. They're dressed in the same clothes as I am, the same as everyone, and hints of the flaming skull branding that we all bear peeks out from my dad's short sleeves. The giant branding is given to everyone when they turn twelve as apart of their final initiation into the cult. I can still feel the burning flesh on my back as I was branded with the sacred symbol of the fiery skull crossed with two spears.

When my parents gather my sisters and usher them out the door, I follow with reluctance. I know that if I don't come, they won't force me. But later, Peacekeepers will come around and drag me to the Square no matter how hard I struggle. I might as well go now and save them the trouble.

Outside the cabin, the populus is gathering around in the middle of the meadow where we live, waiting for the van that will come to take us to the Reaping. District Nine is large, filled with fields of grain that take up much of the space. Many farmers live far out from the city centers, but the cult is probably the closest to the electric fence around the district than anyone else. Sometimes the elders take the children out to watch the trees waving just outside the outskirts of the district through the fence. It's one of our only trips outside of the campsite, aside from Reaping days.

Quite honestly the Reaping has always been like a field trip for me. We get to go into town, interact with people outside of the cult, though the adults try to minimize it as much as possible. All of the other citizens are always subdued and depressed, for good reason I suppose, but it's still nice to be among them for a little while.

I guess today will be the last time I'll see anything outside of this small camp filled with wooden cabins. Not that I've seen a lot of the rest of the district, or that anyone else in the district has ever seen any part of the world except for what's inside these fences. Except for when we all crowd around our screens every Hunger Games season to watch the opulent lives of the Capitolites and see the tributes bludgeon each other to death. It's the only thing that the cult members and the rest of the district have in common: being forced to watch children kill each other.

As I stand in the sunlight, I blink up at the light that illuminates the outline of the great cross that stands ominously in the middle of the camp. The mound on which I'll be burned is already set up, complete with the same ugly cross that every other sacrifice has been burned on since the cult's conception. I stare at it in awe and defeat, the thing that will be my last resting place. The remains of the other sacrifices stay burned at the bottom of the mound, left there as an offering for the great fire. A gentle breeze blows through the meadow and some of the ashes rise up into the air, billowing towards me. A few black pieces brush against my cheek and entangle in my unruly red hair.

"They're coming!"

Everyone turns to see the white truck approaching. It comes to a halt a few feet outside of the camp, which is surrounded by a loose wooden fence. Not designed to keep anyone in or out- the cult itself and its ideology is enough to do all of that.

A few Peacekeepers step out and silently wave us toward the open back of the truck. It's a large one, usually carrying plucked grain to the the processing plants in the township. It will be able to fit about half of everyone in its bed, taking two trips to transport us all to the Square. Everyone starts mechanically loading into the truck, chatting animatedly among themselves. I try to catch Twiggy's eye as she passes me, talking with one of my old friends, but neither of them acknowledge my presence. I'm practically invisible.

But I know I won't be invisible if I try to escape before my execution. I've seen too many people try to escape the cult than to attempt it myself. But as I step up into the truck bed, sitting on the dirty metal and wrap my arms around my knees, I know there's only one way to escape my fate. All the other sacrifices try to disguise themselves in the citizenry of the district, but no one's ever tried to escape it altogether. And I know a way that will mean the elders will never be able to hurt me again.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

Reapings days always make me angry. Even before I was old enough to understand the importance of the Reaping or the Hunger Games, I would wake up with my fists clenched and my teeth grinding against one another, as if sensing the energy of rage and helplessness in the air. Of course, I've had problems with my anger since my father's death was I was eight. My little brother Alnus was only two when I started waking him up in bed from punching the wall in my sleep, even punching him in the arm.

I can only hope he won't have any bruises on his arms for this Reaping. Last year, Mom scolded me for "beating him up" as if I had done it on purpose. That's one of the reasons I didn't sleep much last night, instead staring at the corner of our room with the blanket bunched in my fists, wondering how the ceremony will end this year. Will there be a young kid chosen like last year, or another pregnant girl whose baby's life was on the line? I can practically still hear the baby's crying from the Victory Tour, when we all stood in the Square to welcome our victor. No one had cared much, like most Tours, but the sharp, high cries of the baby on the podium with her father hurt my ears and made me grit my teeth. It still haunts my dreams sometimes, along with the creaking of a swinging rope. No mother, and now no father either. The mother's family found him their shed a few days after the Tour.

"Is it time to get up, Alder?" Alnus asks sleepily. I turn from where I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoving for an hour or so to watch the sunrise. He's laying facing me, his eyes squinting in the bright sun.

"Yes," I say. "Why don't you get dressed?"

He nods and silently rises from the bed, sorting through the pile of clothes we left out the evening before. I watch him closely, grateful that he isn't of Reaping age yet. But three more years, and we'll both be standing in the Square, me for the last time and him for the first.

I hear pots clanging in the other room, probably our mother trying to get things ready for after the ceremony. The "celebration" is usually a somber affair, especially if someone in our village was picked, but full of good food. Out the window, I can see the neighbors start to stir around in their yards. Our village is pretty large, all of us living in wooden houses out in the middle of nowhere. Most mornings, the Peacekeepers come to take us out to the nearby fields, where we'll pick grain from when the sun comes up until it goes down. But today, everyone gets a few extra hours of sleep… if they could sleep at all.

I quickly dress myself alongside my brother and we amble into the kitchen. Mom has set out some bread for us to eat before the Reaping, a smaller breakfast than when we set out for the fields, but I know the real food is being saved for after. As Alnus digs in, I go over to stand beside her and silently help her measure out the honeysuckle we'll need for later. Everyone has been spending their time off scrounging the meadows for honeysuckle to use for their Reaping recipes. Sugar and real honey are hard to come by, but sweet flowers are a good substitute.

"How are you feeling?" Mom asks, her inquisitive brown eyes boring into mine. Her face is lined with years of stressful work and hardships, but she's never lost the kind gleam in her eyes.

"I'm fine," I say. "And so is Alnus."

She nods quickly, measuring out some flour and setting it aside for later. "You know, some of the village boys were planning on playing a game of ball after the ceremony, they were wondering if you were interested."

I know what this really means, of course. She heard that some friends were going to play ball- a game invented around here with simple rules and only requiring a ball- and decided to invite me herself.

"I don't know, Mom," I say. "I should be helping everyone around here."

"You're still young," she says incredulously. "Have some good times with people your own age."

The problem is, I don't really care about people my own age. I don't really trust them. I don't like their silly games and their carefree laughs. Most of them have never really experienced something horrible other than simply living in Panem. They'd rather sit in their school desks being useless than go work in the fields to support their families. Just the thought makes my hair stand on end from anger and annoyance.  
I don't answer and instead sit at the table to eat my slice of bread. It's good, but I find myself wanting to simply get this all over with. I know worrying is useless, but I feel it creeping up on me nonetheless. I haven't taken a lot of tesserae, just a few times during a couple bad winters, but I know my chance is still higher than many. The pregnant girl last year had a fairly well-off family, and was still picked. And the boy was only thirteen. What will Mom and Alnus do without me? They need my hands in the fields to survive. Now that my father is gone, I'm the man of the house. I have to take care of them, no matter what.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, the village starts gathering in the middle, preparing the long trek to the Square. We're not far enough out in the fields to warrant Peacekeepers coming to retrieve us, but also not rich enough to afford our own van. So we walk.

The three of us silently meet them out in the meadow, where everyone is either chatting nervously or completely silent. The usual sensation of powerlessness and nerves is in the air, and I can feel it seeping into my bones. My limbs tremble in rage as we start our journey to the township. Mom and Alnus walk beside me, holding hands and both staring straight ahead with glassy eyes. The people around us have similar, dead, empty expressions, but sometimes put on a facade of a smile or laugh, though I can see through the thin layer of emotion and down to the anger underneath.

"Alder, how are you?"

I turn immediately at the sound of that voice, the only one I can stand hearing beside my family's. "Kaia. I'm… fine."

Her laugh is like the bells that hang over her family doorstep that chimes whenever somebody enters. "Please… nobody's fine today."

"Then why would you ask?"

Before I realize that could come across as rude, she laughs again and shakes her head. "I guess I shouldn't have, you're right. It's just what people ask. It's a weird thing to ask, though, isn't it?"

"Yes," I say. "No one is ever fine."

"Mmm. Well, are you at least excited for the food? I try to find some things to look forward to on days like this."

"I'm looking forward to getting back to work," I say truthfully. Kaia is one of the few people I feel comfortable talking to, even though she is my age. She understands me, to a degree. "My mom needs to let me drop out so that I can work more. It's honestly ridiculous."

"She just wants you to have more of your youth," Kaia says with a sweet smile. "I've never met anyone who wanted to work in the fields before, Alder."

I shrug as her parents call her back to their spot in the group.

"I'll see you later," she says with another smile, slinking backward and away from me.

With Kaia gone, the rest of the journey is boring and familiar- villages of wooden cabins and a few lonely ones, field after field of grain reaching our thighs, not fully matured but still a golden sea on land. It's the same journey Alnus and I take when we walk to school every morning.

Finally the tall buildings of the township come into view, the most prominent being the Justice Building. The town's people are already milling about in the Square, their dead eyes staring up at the white Capitol banners and screens blazing with pictures of past Nine victors. There aren't that many- just four, and all from over twenty-five years ago. I don't doubt it will be another quarter century before another tribute from Nine is graced with the golden victor crown.

Alnus turns and gives me a light hug before leaving with Mom, who stares after we with worry. I don't let my nervousness show on my face as I stand in line to have my blood taken. It will only be an hour or so before the ceremony is over, and then only half a day before the sun sets on this ridiculous 'holiday'.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

The truck drops us off on the outskirts of the township as always, the Peacekeepers driving away without a word to us. The others gather around the Elders, huddled as if afraid of what the outside world has in store for us. The other citizens of Nine don't all know about us, but the ones that do often regard us with disgust and keep a distance, so there really isn't anything to be worried about. But the elders have always acted like the outside world is a threat to us, a threat to the power of the great fire.

Given that they already all hate me, I don't bother staying within the huddle. I stay on the edge of the group as we walk to the Square, staring with curiosity at the buildings and the people. So _many_ people, all of them seeming lifeless and moving on autopilot, not even taking notice of the amazing town around them. I suppose it must not be as magnificent to hem given they are free to come here whenever they wish. I stare longingly down the street at a bakery, thinking about the sweet things that are inside. We cultists aren't allowed to eat food made by someone outside the cult, and we don't have any access to real sugar except every once in a blue moon. I can't imagine having a cupcake all to myself.

The Square is packed like every year. I stand in line with the other children of the cult, who are circled together nervously as if the outsiders will try to bite them. I don't want to die, but I'm not sad that I have to pretend I like living in the cult anymore.

My sisters and old friends ignore me as they each get their fingers pricked and go to their places in the Square. I wince slightly as the Peacekeeper takes a drop of blood from my finger, smearing it on the paper. She waves me forward and I slowly make my way to the fifteen-year old section. The other girls don't seem afraid of me, probably because they are too young to know about the cult. Some of them look curiously at the pieces of my tattoo that peek out from under my shirt, or at my dirty pants, the only pair I own. But they don't shy away from me like so many others do- now both outside the cult and inside it.

The ceremony begins with a speech from the mayor as usual. I listen intently to the words as he explains how important the grain of Nine is to the well-being of the nation. The Bread Bowl of Panem. The words seem more meaningful now that I know I'm going to die tonight. Perhaps my existence wasn't completely useless if I was helping feed some other poor girls in other districts.

As the film begins on the big screen, the part about Panem rising from the ashes of the Dark Days makes my stomach churn. Will my soul rise to the sun with the smoke like the Elders say? Or will it stay buried with the rest of the ashes at the base of the cross?

The escort steps up to the mic as i realize something. I know what will be waiting for me back in the cult meadow. There's no escape from the cult, except for one.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"  
The Capitol accent is always jarring to me. I don't know if other families in Nine watch Capitol television a lot, but the only time I hear it is during the Hunger Games season.

"What a beautiful day for a Reaping!" the escort says, sounding truly delighted. "Shall we start with the ladies?"

My heart races in my chest as I realize the implications of my decision. No one in the cult has ever went into the arena, let alone made it out. But if I did, the cult wouldn't be able to hurt me anymore. And if I don't… at least I'll have had a few more days of life. Of a luxurious life in the outside world. Faraway from here.

The escort tiptoes to the glass bowl, garish smile plastered to her face. She reaches down into the bowl and ruffles around before choosing a slip. But it doesn't matter whose name is chosen- the tribute will be the same.

"Avena Nuda!"

The trembling girl mounts the stage with her eyes betraying her panic. She shakes like a leaf as the escort places an arm around her shoulder. "And would anyone be so kind as to volunteer for this young lady?"

"I volunteer!"

My face is weak and croaky after not speaking to anyone for so long, but clearly audible in the silence of the Square. Everyone's heads turn to me, and I suddenly feel like hiding behind my curtain of red hair. But I force myself to walk out in front of all of them, up the stairs and past the Reaped girl, who gives me an open mouthed nod and returns back down to the ground.

The escort is of course delighted- I doubt there has been any volunteers in Nine for decades. She pulls me closer to her, her golden outfit glimmering in the sunlight, blinding me. She's meant to look like a ripe stalk of wheat, her hair puffing out like the soft spikes at the top of a wheat plant. But the effect to me makes me look like a monster that crawled out from the woods around the cult's camp.

"Wonderful!" she squawks. "And what is your name, my dear?"

"Blossom Urakaka." My voice is small and meek, and I avoid everyone's eyes or looking at the camera. I realize that being in the Hunger Games means I will constantly be on camera. Not exactly an upside, but I suppose it's worth it for a few more days and weeks of life.

"What a beautiful name," she practically squeals. "I love district names so much. So quaint and gorgeous."

I don't know what to say to that, but it appears she isn't expecting a response. She titters over to the boy's bowl, reaching inside with another swoop of the hand to grab another name. I glance down at the audience and see that the cult elders are staring at me venomously. Their eyes send shivers down my spine, but I know they will do nothing to get me back. I'm a tribute now, and they can no longer lay claim to me.

"Alder Kasha!"

The Square is dead silent again as a boy with dark brown eyes and hair climbs the stage. His fists are clenched and his jaw shut tight, eyes bulging with anger. I step away from him slightly, afraid he might try something, but he only stands stock still, glaring at the cameras.

"What a handsome young man!" the escort cries. "Would anyone like to volunteer for him?"

As expected, the Square is silent. The boy grinds his teeth together as the escort starts applauding, the rest of the district joining in. The sound startles me a little, but I manage to stay composed. When the two of us shake hands, I can see the rage burning in his eyes and I know I won't be making any allies in these Games.

Soon Peacekeepers are dragging us inside the arena, silently separating us and shutting me into a small room inside the Justice Building. Despite the rough treatment, I'm amazed by what I see- I've never been inside a building outside the cult's camp. The walls are wooden, or at least made to look like it. But they're polished and pretty, with a smooth sheen over the boards. The couches are finished with velvet and satin, and charts of old Nine harvests are hanging on the walls. I press my hand against the glass of one of them, trying to read the tiny scrawl that recorded a particularly fruitful harvest. As I put pressure on the wall, something drops onto the ground and rolls away.

Suddenly panicking, I hurry to pick it up from underneath a wooden bench. The object is a tiny little gold coin. Is it real gold? I stare at my reflection in fascination, then look up at where it fell from. There's a whole collection of old coins, left to collect dust on a shelf. I smile as I swipe over the shiny surface with my thumb and pocket it. At least I will have something from Nine to take with me into the arena.

I don't expect anyone to come to see me before my departure, and I was right. I find my mind beginning to wander, wondering about all the experiences I will have in the Capitol. Hell, even in the arena. I wonder if there will be a nice river to swim in, some trees to climb, some squirrels to catch and eat. Last year was a desert and ocean arena, and despite the physical barriers from leaving, I wonder if those tributes felt free inside the simulated walls. Free to do whatever they pleased, even if they were expected to die in the end.

I will do my best to win… but if I don't, at least I can say I lived my own life for a few moments.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

The rage that has always boiled underneath my skin has finally bubbled to the surface, and I can feel it cracking through my shell. I sit still on a satin covered bench, my dark hair falling into my eyes as I wonder about my luck. Why does it have to be me that these horrible things happen to?

My mother bursts through the door only a few minutes after I sit down, running over to hug me tearfully. Alnus isn't crying and doesn't even seem concerned about me- he's staring at our mother with shock and worry. He's never seen her like this before. He was too young when our father died to remember her then, when she was completely broken and I had to step up to head of the house. But my current anger isn't out of the ordinary to him either- he doesn't remember when I was a lot like him, curious and outgoing. All before our father was killed by some Peacekeepers for not meeting his quota too many times.

"Oh, Alder," Mom cries, holding onto me tighter. "Baby, you are so strong and smart. You'll win no problem, okay?"

She leans back to wipe her eyes, looking at me intently. Alnus follows her line of sight and stares at me, his little bright eyes scared and confused.

"I'll try my best," I say lowly.

"Are you really going away?" Alnus asks me, reaching out for my hand. He frowns when I nod in response. "But you're coming back."

"He'll come back," Mom nods, her expression fierce and determined. "You'll come back, Alder. My strong boy."

She hugs me again, and we stay in a three-way embrace until Peacekeepers come to take them away. I hear my mother wailing in the hallway as the same people who killed her husband drag her away from her firstborn son.

My fists clench tighter together and I think for a moment that my fingernails will break the skin of my hands. I raise one of my hands to punch the wall just to let off some steam, and perhaps show my competitors I'm not to be messed with due to my bloody knuckles, just when the door opens to reveal someone else.

"Alder," Kaia says, tears streaming down her face.

I stand up and motion for her to come inside. She does so and closes the door behind her with a soft click. We stare at each other for a moment and I realize just what Kaia means to me, as the only person who bothered to try to get to know me past my rough exterior.

"Kaia, I-"

She advances on me, holding out something in her palm. It's a small brass pin, one that she must have found in a barn or storage house for grain. There are all kinds of metal scraps around Nine from the times before Panem, dug up during planting season.

"I want you to have this," she says. "And I want you to come home."

"Well, I'll do my best, but-"

I'm taken aback when she grabs my collar with her free hand and kisses me ferociously. I reach up to tangle my hand in her hair, wondering why we had never done this before. I guess I'm a hotheaded idiot that can never realize what's in front of him until it's almost gone.

Kaia pulls away and immediately pins the brass token to my shirt. She nods to me once and we kiss again, this time for much longer, until the Peacekeepers return. They apparently have no qualms about pulling us apart, their faceless masks and rough hands grabbing her and dragging her away.

"Alder, please win!" is the last thing I hear her say.

I walk over to stand my the window, which doesn't show much except the back of another building. I reach up to touch the brass pin, feeling determination rise inside me. I don't have to meet the other tributes to know that they will be idiots, even the Careers. I will make it out of the arena, I know I will. I have to.

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 **I hope this was satisfactory enough to make up for the late update. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review!**


	12. D10 Reaping: Young, Wild, Free

**Hey everyone! I'm back with another Reaping. Thanks to _LongingForRomeo_ and _domgk115_ for creating these tributes. Hope you like them!**

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 _Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F_

The only good thing about being up so early in the morning is seeing the district without other people crowding it. The fields are empty aside from the cattle, with no one on the roads or walking to town. There's only me and the other stable hands, riding out to meet the cattle out in the distance. I managed to dodge stable duty again, sticking it with the younger kids that don't know any different. Not that I don't like working in the stables, but I'd rather be out here, in the fresh air with the horses and cows.

My horse whinnies beneath me as we gallop towards the herd of cows near the back of the ranch. The other stable hands are silent, as they always are on Reaping day. I don't really understand why anyone gets nervous around the Reaping- life in Ten isn't exactly safe or fun anyway. The Reaping is just another day here, two more deaths.

"Caiden, did you ask Sultan about the heifers yet?" Jax calls over to me from his horse.

"I'll get around to it," I reply, unworried. I click my heels against my mare's sides and she picks up the pace with a distressed neigh. The cattle comes into clearer view, looking up from their gentle chewing on the grass to lazily watch us approaching. I slow down and and hop off the horse, striding to the nearest heifer and patting her gently on the flank.

"You're getting nice and fat, sweetheart," I tell her. "But you need to have a baby before we send you to the butcher's."  
"What do you think the problem is?" Mabel asks me, tying up her horse next to mine."I don't remember anything like this happening before."

The heifers in this field have been having trouble getting pregnant, which is sending the owners of the ranch into a frenzy. If all their cows are infertile, they'll be looking at a real downturn in profits.

"It's the bulls," I say. "There's only two, and a dozen heifers. They're either not interested or some sterile dumbasses."

"They're not asses, they're bulls!" Jax shouts from across the herd. I roll my eyes at his terrible non-joke and start checking on each of the heifers. They seem fine aside from their lack of swollen bellies. I've been a stable hand here at the ranch for three years, full time for two, and the cattle have never had a problem like this before. But I'm sure it will all work out- or if not, the owners will just have to buy some new cows and start over. Everything is temporary, after all.

We start to round up the cattle and mount our horses again, driving them back to the stables so the experts can come examine them. The owners are determined to get to the bottom of the problem.

The air is cool and fresh against my face as we ride back,blowing through the short strands of hair that I have left. My dark hair is cropped close to my head, almost like a buzzcut, but I've let it grow out a little too long. I'll need to cut it soon.

As we approach the stables, the young stable hands are standing there waiting for us with shovels in their hands and disgruntled expressions on their faces. One of them has giant brown streaks on his white shirt. I snort to myself and hop back onto the ground.

"Did you guys have fun?"  
One of the girls huffs at me. "I'll tell Sultan you forced us to clean the stables."

"Go ahead and do that," I say with a laugh, running a hand over my scalp. "Why don't I go tell him for you?"

I brush past all of the other hands and walk up to the main building of the ranch. Sultan should be there as he is most mornings. His parents might be taking the day off as most do on Reaping day, but he'll still come to see me under the guise of checking on the cattle.

The ranch's administrative building is essentially just a few rooms with paperwork and old gear that no one wants to throw away in case they need it. Sultan is waiting in the office, standing over the desk in his ranchhat. He looks up when I enter, not bothering to knock on the door.

"Everyone wants me to talk to you about the heifers," I say, leaning against the desk. "Do you have any breakfast?"

"Haven't you eaten already?" he says with amusement, reaching out for my arm. "Your father wouldn't let you leave without eating."

"None of your business," I say, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "Go tell the others they have nothing to worry about with the cattle."

"Fine," he sighs, grabbing my hand to walk out onto the ranch. As he walks into the sunlight, I admire Sultan's sharp jawline and tanned skin. He's a very attractive guy, after all. I'm lucky to have nabbed him before any one of the other girly girls on the ranch managed it.

He notices me looking at him and raises an eyebrow in question, but I just give him a look and stare up at the cloudy blue sky. It's a little cool today, and I hope it doesn't rain on us in the Square.

"Everyone, listen up!" Sultan calls to the other hands. They turn to look at him, waiting expectantly. "The heifers are going to be fine. We're having the doctors come look at them tomorrow. Please herd them back into the stables so we don't have to worry about them for the rest of the day."

Everyone starts murmuring amongst one another, starting to round up the cattle. Sultan turns to me with a bright smile. "What are your plans for later?"

I focus on the sleeve of my plaid shirt, which has started fraying a little. "Lance wants to have a family dinner."

"We both know you're not into that," Sultan grins. "Why don't you ask Lance and your dad to come over to our house?"

"To your mansion?" I say with fake venom. Sultan's family doesn't have wealth anything like in the Capitol, but they're certainly the highest class in Ten. "My lowly family in your neighborhood? Your neighbors would riot."

"Don't be like that," he says, sounding genuinely annoyed. "You know I don't care what anyone thinks."

"Even your parents?" I say, even though I know they aren't like most of the other ranch owners in the district. They even make Sultan work on the ranch despite the fact that they're so wealthy he'd never have to work a day in his life.

"They love you," he says.

But that's not true either. If anything, Sultan's parents are indifferent towards me. They think, perhaps rightly, that we our relationship is more casual than anything. I don't doubt they still have hopes for him to end up with a pretty rich girl that lives down the street from them.

I hum under my breath and push him away lightly. "Get back to your cattle, rich boy."

He draws me back in for another kiss, this time pulling on my lip ring slightly with his teeth. "Get back to your family, then."

…

Dad is waiting for me back at the house, washing the dishes in the kitchen sink. He looks up when the screen door bangs shut. "How were the cattle?"

"They're fine," I say dismissively. I gaze at myself in the mirror above the stove, leaning down a little bit since it's too low for my tall frame. All the other girls at school used to stare at my bushy eyebrows and tell me to pluck them, but I don't have time or patience to do that. I like that they make me look unique.

"You should get dressed soon," Dad says softly, putting the last plate onto the counter. Sometimes I wonder how someone as loud and brutal as me could be born to someone as gentle and sweet as my father. Maybe I got it from my mother, but I wouldn't know.

I head back to my room, which is just a small closet that barely fits my bed. Outside the slim window, I can see some of the village's people starting to stir, pale sunlight illuminating the dead grass of the ground. The spring has been too cool for the plants to really grow properly, the frosts overnight preventing them from turning green. It doesn't help that the goats and sheep that wander around the villages graze them low to the ground.

I slide the box of my clothes out from underneath my bed. Most of my clothes are simple black and white, the majority designed for boys. I've never understood the point in acting like a girl, or even a boy for that matter. But boy's clothes are more comfortable, so I tend to stick to them. I dress in a simple black pair of pants, the nicest dyed jeans that I have, with a white blouse. That is until I see the blouse has frills on the collar that I forgot about. Hissing in disgust, I throw it off and go for a simple plaid shirt again, this one darker in color.

I check the placement of my lip ring to make sure Sultan didn't move it too much. It seems fine, and I like the taste of metal against my tongue. I reach up to check my earring, but I remember with amusement that it was torn out about a year ago when I was rounding up some rowdy bulls. I had fallen off my horse and hit the ground hard, my earring caught in my hair and torn out of the cartilage of my ear. There had been lots of blood, but I managed to assure Sultan that I was fine. Sometimes I forget that the ring in the top of my ear is gone. I rub the scar in my ear thoughtfully, smirking to myself. I wish I still had my earring, but the scar gives me a distinguished look.

As I leave my room, I nearly run into my brother Lance. He grins at me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "How are you, lil sis?"

"Fine," I say, shrugging him away. "How does it feel to know you won't have to give blood later today?"

Lance laughs, leading me down the hallway back to the kitchen. He turned nineteen this year, meaning he won't have to stand in the sweaty Square for an hour.

"It feels good," he says with a smile. He sits at the rickety kitchen table and sips on a glass of water that Dad set out for him. "How will it feel if that crazy leopard man pulls your name out of the bowl?" he asks, referring to Ten's escort.

"Don't say things like that," our father says sharply, wiping his hands of the dishwater. "Don't even joke about it."  
"Sorry," we both murmur simultaneously. He's used to us teasing each other, but he's a little more sensitive to it on Reaping day. It's not exactly out of the range of possibility that I could be Reaped- I've been taking out tesserae for all three of us every year since I turned twelve. But so did Lance, and here he is sitting beside me at age nineteen.

"Was Mom as uptight about the Games as Dad?" I ask, provoking both of them into our usual banter.

Dad rolls his eyes, nodding to Lance as if to pass the duty to him. This is our tradition that we've had since I was little. Lance makes up stories about our mother, or perhaps tells real ones. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I don't remember her at all, let alone what happened to her or why she isn't here.

"She loved the Hunger Games," Lance says with a glint in his eye. "She wanted to sit in a hot, crowded Square for two hours while watching leopard man yell into the microphone. She had a huge crush on him. She wanted to run away to the Capitol with him, so that's why she became a Peacekeeper."

"How original," Dad says sarcastically. One of Lance's favorite stories is that our mother ran away to join the Peacekeepers. He ends his stories with it so often that I might believe it if I didn't know that Peacekeeping was practically unheard of for citizens of Ten.

Dad smiles to me and rubs his hand over my scalp. "Are we ready to go?"

Dad may not like us joking about the Reaping or about the low quality of life in Ten, he almost encourages us to tell stories about our mother. I used to wonder if it was because hated her, and wanted her reputation tarnished, but now I can always see the loving glimmer in his eye when anyone mentions her, even as a fictional Peacekeeper beating citizens to death. Perhaps what actually happened to her was so terrible that anything else would have been better.

"Let's get this over with," I say with a long sigh, standing and slipping on my shoes.

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

I watch as Timmy shimmies into his tight dress pants. His brown eyes glimmer with laughter.

"I think these are too small," he says.

"They'll work for one day," I say, reaching to ruffle his scruffy brown hair. "Go show your dad."

"Don't you have any old pants for me to wear," he whines, walking bowlegged out of our room. "They may fit me."

My face falls a little, but I manage to keep a smile on my face so he doesn't notice. "I don't have any of my old clothes left. I didn't expect to have a little brother to give them to."

He sighs in exasperation. "Fine. Dad!"

He leaves the room and runs to meet his dad in the kitchen. I take a deep breath and slowly get up from the bed. My adopted parents are more careful not to mention anything about my past, but Timmy is too young to know it's a taboo topic. He knows I was a beggar here in Ten, nothing more.

I methodically put on my own Reaping outfit, a simple white butcher shirt and gray pants. This is my first time going to a Reaping as Jeremy Caulfield. This is even the first time that Jeremy Caulfield's name will be written on any official document. He's only existed for a year now, after all. My new parents had to pull quite a few strings for a long time to give me a legitimate identity.

After coiffing my light blonde hair onto the right side of my head. I stare into my own green eyes, wondering not for the first time if anyone will recognize me if the camera focuses on my face. Everyone back at One always said that I look just like my parents. The green eyes and bones of my face are distinctive as a Carroway, at least according to the trainers at the Academy in One.

Here in Ten, no one's recognized me so far. But I can't account for the Capitolites or citizens of One who might know my parents personally.

I open the drawer of the dresser and reach into the bottom, fishing out the locket that's the only connection I still have to my old home. I don't dare open it to see the picture inside, instead placing it around my neck and holding it close to my chest.

"Jeremy, why don't you come to breakfast?" I hear Elise's soft voice floating down the hallway.

"Coming!" I call back. I look back to my reflection, my familiar Carroway face dressed in foreign Ten clothes. But it doesn't seem as strange as it used to, just a normal butcher in a townie Ten family. Maybe a little oddly pale, but not out of place.

In the kitchen, my adopted family is waiting around the table. I feel a genuine twinge of affection as I look over the scene, more than I ever felt for my own biological parents. We had a huge mansion in Victor's Village, furnished with only the finest exports from the Capitol and specially made in One. My home in Ten is a tiny shack in comparison, but is practically paradise here in Ten. A wooden apartment above our butcher shop that serves most of the district. Despite being the livestock supplier of Panem, most employees on ranches don't have their own animals to butcher for meat. As such, we have quite a booming business here in Ten.

"There you are," Alan says with a smile, pulling out the chair next to him for me. I flash him a nervous grin in return and sit down, loading my plate with eggs and bacon. I chew it anxiously, staring at my glass of orange juice. Oranges are hard to come by this far away from the Capitol, even though we're close to Eleven. The lack of fresh fruit isn't something i expected when I fled District One. I didn't expect a lot of things.

"I got a great deal on this orange juice in exchange for some pork cuts," Elise says cheerfully. "What do you think?"

"I love it!" Timmy shouts, drinking down his glass. I smile at him and gently push my glass over to him.

"I thought we should all have something nice for Reaping day," Elise says sweetly. "How is everyone feeling?"

"I feel fine," Timmy shrugs, seeming unconcerned. I can only hope that his carefree personality can withstand his life in Ten, hopefully due to inheriting the butcher shop. But Alan did share with me that during the last Reaping, his first one, he had been a little nervous. Apparently my presence here has helped him stay calm.

"What about you, Jeremy?" Elise asks me with a smile.

I look up at her, wondering how to explain my apprehension. "I'm not worried about the Reaping," I say truthfully. "I'm just…"

She nods in understanding. "We've taken care of everything, dear. Don't worry yourself for one minute, okay?"  
I nod, the endearment making me feel emotional for a moment. My real parents didn't like to show real affection, believing it would make my sister and I too soft. We couldn't win the Games if we were sentimental about others. For several years, it worked… until my sister's death. Maryann Carroway probably isn't a name that's recognizable to anyone but the most dedicated Hunger games officienados. Maybe they only remember her because of how horrifically gruesome her death was. But for me, watching my sister's death wasn't as entertaining as it was appalling. My only sibling, torn to pieces by a pack of mutts who devoured her flesh. She was so mangled when they sent her back to District One that I could barely identify her body.

That was the night I decided to leave. The night of my sister's funeral, when my parents didn't shed any tears and admonished me for crying as she was lowered into the ground, I vowed that I would leave District One and never return. A week later, I packed my things and hopped on the first train I came across in the station. I couldn't think of a better way to escape, and I didn't care much if I was found out and executed. I just couldn't stay with my parents, in that dreadful Academy, or go into the arena.

We finish our breakfast and start to head out, the walk rather short for us compared to most Ten residents who live far out in the ranches. The other townies are also starting to head toward the Square, the atmosphere somber and subdued. We head down the stairs to the butcher shop, which is uncharacteristically quiet and dark. Alan locks the shop back up behind us as we make for the Square.

"You do you think will be Reaped?" Timmy asks me nonchalantly.

I absently reach up to rub my locket between my fingers. "Don't speculate about that. There's no point."  
"Oh. Okay." Timmy turns away and doesn't speak again until we reach the Square, but I can tell he isn't upset. He keeps his eyes ahead of us, taking in everything as we draw nearer to the crowd.

Elise and Alan say goodbye to us and I take Timmy's hand to lead him to the white table at the front of the Square. I let him go first, my heart beating wildly as my turn comes closer. I can't imagine what will happen if my blood is taken and my name isn't on the sheet of paper under the Peacekeepers' noses. If anyone finds out that I'm not a resident of Ten, I'll likely be executed, or even taken to the Capitol and my tongue torn out so that I can serve the plucked, plumped fashion designers and entertainers and personalities evermore.

The Peacekeeper motions me forward. I extend my hand with trepidation, feeling my pulse in my finger as it's stabbed. My blood is smeared onto the paper, and the Peacekeeper waves me on.

I sigh in relief and walk into the roped off part off the Square, quickly finding the sixteen-year olds section. The other boys give me respectful nods as I settle in beside them. I don't know many boys my own age, as I don't go to school here lest I'm found out. But everyone who's come into the butcher's shop might have seen me. The Caulfields have a reputation as kind, generous shop owners, so they usually are met with similar reception wherever they go.

I try to look over the heads of the boys in front of me to spot Timmy, but his tiny body is lost in the sea of thirteen-year olds. I glance up to the stage, where the hideous escort is grinning with a feline smirk. His skin is dyed like the pattern of a leopard's fur, with his eyes surgically enhanced with cat's pupils. His uncanny gaze sweeps over the audience, his sharpened teeth glinting in the light. He seems like a predator surveying his prey.

Once everyone is settled and the cameras flash as a cue, the mayor steps up to give a boring speech about the importance of District Ten to the livelihood of Panem. Everyone stares at him blankly, equal parts boredom and fear. It's a vast difference from One, where the mayor always gave an animated speech about the luxury district, followed by engaged applause.

Despite the strangeness of the low mood, I actually feel more at place here. I wasn't myself when I was Jem Carroway; that was just a name that my parents gave me in the hopes I would carry on their legacy of murder- _theirs_ , not mine. I went along with it for a time, but I eventually broke free. Now I'm in my true home, and i'm proud of it. Looking at all of the tanned faces and worn hands of the ranchers and animal handlers and butchers from the factories, I feel so much more at home than I ever did in One.

After the speech and the video from the Capitol, the escort steps up to the mic. Even his voice sounds like a hiss when he proclaims, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

He wastes no time getting to the girls' bowl. He teases for a minute before pulling a slip from the top of the pile, swaggering back to the front of the stage. "And our lucky lady is… Caiden Clawford!"  
I don't recognize the name, and I know for sure that I've never seen her before when she mounts the podium. She has short black hair almost razed to her head, a lip ring and bushy eyebrows that sit atop two pale blue eyes. I would have remembered someone so outlandish. She's big, too, taller and broader than leopard man even with his wild colored hair and shoulder pads. He grins up at her when he sees how unique she is from everyone else in the district.

"How wonderful!" he says, sounding genuinely delighted. "Would anyone like to volunteer for this young lady!"

Caiden looks neither young nor like a lady, and she doesn't seem panicked or nervous at all when no one makes a sound. I wonder for a moment if she's in shock. When no one steps forward, the escort squeals in excitement and jets to the boy's bowl. This time he doesn't waste time searching for a slip, instead picking the one right on top.

Unlike the other boys beside me, who tense up and stare with wide eyes as the slip is unfolded, I merely watch with interest. My new name may be on some forged official documents in the Justice Building, but it isn't in the Reaping pool. The Reaping is oversaw but the Capitol, with no way to access the official list of names. I'm sure _jem Carroway_ is still listed in the pool in District One, despite my absence. If I'm ever Reaped there, then I'll have a real problem on my hands.

"Timothy Caulfield!"

I'm drawn out of my reverie by the sound of a familiar name being called. Leopard man is grinning widely, and I watch in horror as Timmy climbs up the stage. His face is white as a sheet, his arms and legs shaking.

"What a sweet young man!"

I belatedly hear the cries and wails of Elise somewhere in the crowd, joined by Alan trying to calm her. The escort looks mildly uncomfortable, but obviously has been taught to ignore it. "Would anyone like to volunteer for-"

"I volunteer!"

The words leave my mouth before I'm sure what's happening. I resolutely walk to the stage, holding back any emotional reaction as I feel the cameras focus on me. Timmy tries to hug me as I pass him, and I do so gently before pushing him back to the stairs.

"And what's your name, young man?" the escort asks, now even more excited.

"Jeremy Caulfield," I say stoically, crossing my arms. I feel my training rushing back to me, though it's been years. How to appear tough, brooding, dangerous.

"A brother, perhaps?"

"Yes, Timmy is my brother," I say, glancing down to where Alan and Elise are clutching Timmy tearfully. My family. My chosen family, not the one that tried to have me killed like my sister.

"How about you two shake hands?" the escort urges me closer to my district partner, who doesn't look at all intimidated by my act. She extends a muscular arm and I shake it numbly.

 _Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F_

The inside of the Justice Building is nothing like the dingy room they make us wait in to take tesserae. But I suppose I'll be seeing even more luxurious things in the Capitol while i'm there. There's bench to sit on, but I stand, taking in the wooden paneling of the walls and carefully carved cherry of the furniture. There are old saddles and troughs everywhere, so many you'd think you were in the administrative building back on the ranch. It's almost disorienting how much has happened in only half a day, but that's how these things work. Everything is temporary, after all.

"Caiden!"

I turn as the door opens and Lance comes barreling through. I wraps me in a bear hug that I try to repel.

"This doesn't mean we start doing this," I complain, pushing him to sit on the bench. Dad sits beside him, his face stricken.

"Caiden, please promise you'll do your best to win," he says pleadingly. "I know you might want to give up or take it easy, but please try as hard as you can-"

"Give up?" I interrupt incredulously. "Do you even know me?"

"You know what I mean," he says hollowly, though I really don't. "You have a tendency to do the minimum when it comes to things like this, and that isn't going to work this time."

"I think I can make it pretty far," I say truthfully, starting to feel angry. "And you're saying I'll get killed right out the gate? Because I didn't _try_ hard enough?"

"I don't want to argue," he says, and I can see tears brimming in his eyes. "Just please promise me you'll do your best to come home."

"Fine." I turn to Lance. "Anything you have to say?"

"Just that I couldn't ask for a better sister," he says solemnly. "I'll miss you while you're gone."

What's the point in that? People are there one minute and gone the next. There's no reason to get hung up on them. But I know he would want to hear the same thing, so I simply say, "I'll miss you too."

Not long after that, the Peacekeepers come to take them away, which they do willingly but slowly. I can see my father looking over his shoulder at me with desperate eyes, and I give him a resolute nod before the door closes.

I sigh and start to admire the old photos that hang on the wall. One frames an old horse carriage, from long before Panem's time. I growl as the door opens again, simply wanting to be alone before I leave for the train station.

But before I can turn around, Sultan hugs me from behind, and I can feel his tears wet my shirt. Not him too.

"What is wrong with you?" I snap at him, whipping around. "Think I'll be the only piece of ass you'll ever have? Is that it?"

He looks up at me with watery red eyes, sniffling. "You know that's not all you are to me."  
I sigh and reach up to stroke his cheek. "I hope I'll get to see you again, Sultan."

He starts crying harder, hugging me tight. "I love you, Caiden! Please come back to me."

It's not the first time he's said that to me, but he knows I won't say it back, no matter how much he wants me to. "You are a good boyfriend," is all I say, softly, muffled into his white shirt. It's a nice material, more expensive than anyone in my family has owned. If I wasn't Reaped, I suppose I could have eventually had shirts like that of my own. Maybe even gotten some more piercings and convinced Sultan to try it. But there's no use in wondering about that.

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

I'm staring blankly at the ancient photos of ranches and farms, nervously twisting my locket in my hands, when the door opens. Timmy and our parents pour inside, all of their faces wet with tears. But none of them are crying now, instead perhaps putting on a brave face for me.

"Jeremy…" Elise approaches me with a somber expression. "I know this is what you tried to escape. And I'm so sorry this has happened."

"It's not your fault," I say. I turn to Timmy and lean down to we're face to face. "And it's not your fault, either. It's the Capitol's fault, you understand?"

I can tell our parents aren't happy with me teaching him rhetoric that could get him killed, but it's the truth. "I'll be back as soon as I can," I say confidently, disguising my apprehension. But it's true- I actually have a life here in Ten.

And more than that, I have a responsibility to reward Ten for everything that they've done for me. In the nearly two years I've been here, I've received more kindness than I ever expected. From the wrinkled ranchers and stable hands, the butcher factory workers who always have the stench of blood and guts clinging to them, the other townies who gave me what food they could before the Caulfields took me in. It's time I repaid them.

"I love all of you," I say, holding back my tears, though my voice is choked with emotion.

We all sit together for a few more minutes before the Peacekeepers come to drag them away. After they're gone, I stride to the tiny window and hunch my shoulders, vowing that I will see this place again. These open fields, these kind faces. I take my locket into my hand again and open it for the first time in a while. My sister's smiling face stares up at me,forever frozen in time beside me at the Academy. I remember when the picture was taken. She had just heard the news that she was among the highest ranking candidates for the following year's Games. She was hoping to be chosen as the volunteer. And to her detriment, she was.

I curl my fingers around the locket, feeling tears squeeze past my eyelids though I try to shut them away. I won't be like her, dead and gone with only a few mourners. I'll survive. I have to, for my family, for my district, for her memory.

* * *

 **There's District Ten! I hope you all enjoyed it, and leave a review if you'd like. :)**


	13. D11 Reaping: Unbreakable Heart

**Thanks to Closet and Dragon Silvertongue for creating these tributes! Hope you all enjoy them.**

* * *

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

"Devil boy! It's time for the Reaping!"

The thumping of my grandfather's fist on the attic door jolts me into the waking world, making me groan in annoyance. "Shut the hell up!"

I hear him grumbling as he limps away. His steps aren't as strong or impactful as they used to be. When I was younger, I would grow fearful at the sound of his raised voice or his approaching footsteps, afraid that he would strike me, though he never has. We only pierce each other with our words.

Gentle light is streaming through the lone attic window. Birds flutter around outside, some of them knocking against the wooden paneling of the house. I roll my eyes and pull my thin blanket back over my head, only to bump into my bed partner.

"Oh, shit," I mutter, sitting up. I forgot someone stayed here with me last night. Her dark skin glows in the pale light of the morning. She's still asleep somehow, even through the racket.

"Get up, Georgie!" I say loudly, nudging her arm.

She shifts, reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "Good morning, Thorn," she yawns. "What time is it?"

"How should I know?" I snap, already pulling on my Reaping clothes. I only have one outfit, the one that I've worn every year since I turned twelve. The waist is too tight and they only reach my midcalf, but there isn't money to buy any more.

The girl starts silently dressing behind me in her clothes from last night. "I have to go home and get my dress," she says, wringing her hands nervously. "Will I see you at the ceremony?"

"Fine," I say, waving her away. But I give her a glance with half a smirk, which makes me smile a little in return. I like the girls that are more easily moldable in the image I want, who stick around for my banter just long enough that when they eventually leave, I've already gotten bored of them. That's how I like them since… the thing with Georgie ended.

"You better leave before my grandfather realizes you're here," I tell her, leaning down to shuffle through my stacks of papers that litter the attic. Birds start chirping incessantly outside, circling the persimmon tree right beside the house. I can hear the other inhabitants starting to rise and prepare for the Reaping, their voices much softer and gentler than anyone in my family's. I've learned to use other people's sensibilities against them. That's how I managed to score the attic all to myself.

"Good luck," I hear her say.

"You might as well say 'may the odds be ever in your favour'," I snort. "Considering a job as an escort?"  
"Don't say things like that," she says softly. "Whoever is Reaped will probably die."

"Death happens," I shrug, reading a page I wrote last night. It's mostly expletives and some rhyming curses about the Hunger Games, but nothing of real substance. I smile when I come across a drawing of two tributes standing on the stage, a grim reaper smiling malevolently above them.

As the girl opens the hatch of the attic and gently walks down the ladder, I can feel the rotting wood of the house groaning and threatening to collapse. I don't know how long the house has stood, and I have a feeling it will outlive all of its residents.

I sit down to write down my current thoughts. I learned a long time ago that if I don't spill my brain onto the page, it'll end up coming out of my mouth and annoying everyone. I scribble a sentence about the reaping onto the page. _A hearth without a heart is the center of Eleven, where two unlucky soulesseharts will stop beating._

Not exactly my best work, but it'll do for today. I'm sure I'll have more to write when i get back from the ceremony. I toss the paper back down to the buckling floor, huffing at the mess I've made. All the paper I've stolen from the school over the years has piled up, my messy handwriting scrawled over the entire surface area. I kick them away and lower myself down onto the ladder.

The kitchen is full of my housemates who I barely know. They look like what I imagine others see when they look at me. Darker skin, gaunt eyes, hollow faces, the smell of persimmons clinging to the air. The stench is sickly sweet and heavy, and I wrinkle my nose at the familiar scent.

"There you are, Devil boy," I hear Obadiah from the one working sink. "Took you long enough."

I grumble under my breath, heading outside into the bright sunlight and feeling the stink of persimmon seep into my pores. I know everyone at the Reaping will be wondering where the smell is coming from. I narrow my eyes at a group of small children who are crouching underneath the tree, gathering the fallen fruits and biting into some of them. Our tree is popular in the grove; an easy source of food for starving families.

"Don't eat too many," I say sardonically. "They'll make your stomach hurt, kids."

One of them squints at me, but I can't tell if it's because of the sunlight or my comment. He doesn't say anything, his thin limbs knocking together as he crawls away, the sun beating down on his skeletal back. I don't actually mind them taking the persimmons, but my grandmother used to scream and shout at them until they ran off… that is, until they realized she was basically immobile and couldn't get up from her rocking chair without help. She stayed there knitting clothes for the occupants of the black house until she died in that very room.

I reach into my pocket and finger the piece of rosemary branch I carry with me at all times. The tiny twisted twig is pierced through with a simple silver wire, and dangled from Gertrude's ears, along with a matching one I lost the night of her death, in every memory I have of her. The origin of the earrings are a mystery to me, but I couldn't care less. I used to think they were magic, and that if I managed to touch them, Gertrude would turn back into a beautiful young woman and her words would become less grim and piercing, but she died before I got the chance.

Now I know better. My grandmother wasn't a magic woman, just hateful and bitter. I remember her telling me stories about my parents right here, under this persimmon tree that has always cast a sticky gloom over my life. I glance at the old rocking chair, thrown out and left to rot in the weather, flies buzzing around the decomposing wood.

"Devil! Where the hell are you?"

"I'm coming!" I shout back, my voice loud and sharp.

Obadiah is waiting for me on the other side of the house, the wisps of hair on his head quivering in the breeze. "Your grandmother was right about you," he spits at me, but the words have been repeated for so long that they've lost their venom. "You'll end up a whore like your mother, or a bum like your father."

I shrug. I remember Gertrude telling me the exact same thing as a child, me refusing to believe it. But now as I've grown older, I wonder if either or both of those predictions will come true eventually.

"At least I'll be away from here," I drawl, stepping past him and heading in the direction of the Square. I know he'll follow.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

My hands are shaking as I help Roselle put her on dress. It's a pretty one, white with pink flowers like the ones I sometimes bring back for her after working in the fields. Roselle is six, just at that age where she wants to work with everyone and be apart of the world, without realizing what the job actually entails. She waits for me every night as our parents and I return from the orchard with flowers weighing down our arms.

"What do you think?" she squeaks, spinning around so the dress flows with each turn. I feel a smile prick at my lips.

"You look like a princess," I say, hugging her tight. "Like the ones from the stories."  
Ever since last year's Hunger Games, with the victor who was obsessed with medieval stories, Roselle has also started loving them. She reads them to our younger sister Abella every night before going to sleep. I'm sure Abella doesn't understand most of the big words, but listens with rapt attention all the same.

"Where's my knight?" Roselle asks, putting a hand under her chin and blinking up at me demurely. She's developing into quite an ornery lady. That's what I make sure to tell her constantly.

"Are you excited?" she asks me, bouncing on her heels. Her bright green eyes that so similar to mine are glimmering with curiosity. "You're the one who gets to stand in the middle! I hope everyone sees you on the TV."

Roselle is still too young to fully understand the connection between the Reaping and the Hunger Games that she's forced to watch on the television. I don't want her to lose her innocence just yet, but it can sometimes be weird to hear her thoughts about the Reaping.

I give her a nervous smile, the trembling returning to my limbs. I can even feel my head shaking a little. My first Reaping is nerve-wracking enough without having to explain why I'm not stoked to stand in the Square, crowded in like a herd of cattle ready for slaughter.

"Luna! Roselle! Where are you?"

I nudge Roselle towards the main room of our small cabin, where are parents and Abella are waiting. Like usual, we'll probably be foregoing breakfast so that we can have a family meal later in the day. Money has always been tight for us, as exemplified in the shack that is falling apart, groaning with our weight as we move through it. The floorboards creak underneath me, and I can see dying grass between the cracks.

"Luna, are you ready?"

I look up to see my mom smiling at me anxiously. She's trying to seem calm, but I know her too well. She's just as worried as I am, probably more. I may be twelve, but my name went in the bowl six times this year due to tesserae.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I quip timidly.

"You'll be fine," my father says, reaching to place a hand on my shoulder and smiles. "Everyone is the most nervous for their first Reaping, but you'll get the hang of it."

I nod and give him a gentle smile, but I have a feeling it will likely be the opposite. By the time I'm eighteen, if I keep taking tesserae for everyone in my family, there will be forty-two slips with my name on them. I can't imagine that I'll be less nervous then.

"Are we leaving?" I ask, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"As soon as I finish Abella's hair," my mom says, returning to my sister, who is perched on the rotting counter with her legs swinging. She gives me a huge grin when I look at her, and I reach over to tickle her sides. She shrieks and giggles, turning away and trying to squirm off the counter.

"Stop that, Luna," my mother says, swatting my hand away. "Thank you for getting Roselle ready." She turns back to Abella and her long, complicated braid. I haven't quite mastered the hairstyles that my mother always gives us, but the bun I did for Roselle is passable. I look at myself in the dented mirror above the gas stove and decide I should probably do something for myself, aside from my plain green dress. It matches my eyes well, looks nice against my dark and sun-kissed skin. Once I'm finished giving myself a braid of my own, I decide to escape the noise of the girls and head outside.

The day is relatively cool, the kind of day you wish for when you're out in the orchards. The breeze caresses my face, bringing with it the sweet scents of the district and an undercurrent of sweat and despair. The other shacks that line our dirt road are alive with activity, stray dogs barking as everyone quietly prepares for their poor excuse for a day off. It's strange seeing everyone dressed in their best instead of their typical picking clothes or school uniforms.

I sit in a patch of sunlight, hoping the cool weather will last into the summer, but also knowing that means a lower crop yield, and therefore less rations for us. There's always a sacrifice to be made here, always a concession. Cool weather and starvation, or searing heat and enough rotting fruit to go around. Life is never quite fulfilling here.

"Lunes, is that you?"

I turn to see Jake standing on his front porch a few houses away. He's raised his hand above his eyes as if blinded by the sun, though it's unusually pale.

"It is me," I laugh, trying not to blush.

He saunters over to me, an easy grin on his face. He looks wildly handsome in his fresh white pants and blue shirt. He could be a wealthy townie who lives above his shop in the village.

"I barely recognized you in that dress," he says, sliding it to sit next to me. "And you've down something different with your hair."

"Well, it is Reaping day," I say. "Happy Hunger Games."  
"Happy Hunger Games," he repeats, knocking his shoulder into mine. "You nervous?" he gives me a sideways, unsure grin. Though he always puts on a confident face, I've known him for long enough that I can see right through it.

"A little," I say, avoiding showing just how the thought of the Reaping makes me tremble with anxiety. "I didn't sleep well last night. Roselle kept kicking me. Once Abella starts sleeping with us instead of our parents, I'll always be exhausted."

"Tell me about it," Jake says with a sigh. He has four brothers and a sister of his own. I swallow hard when I realize the odds aren't exactly in his favour either. I stare at the way the sunlight dapples his black hair, braided close to his head to keep it away from his work in the orchards. He lays down beside me and puts his hands underneath his head. I stare up at the cloudy sky, the sunlight barely peeking through.

I remember when we were both little kids, just running around in the road, ignoring our parents as they yelled at us to be careful, until I got tired and convinced him to come home with me. Now those kids are Roselle and Abella and Jake's siblings, and we have to be the responsible ones. Spending our days in school but our evenings in the orchards.

"I think this means that we're adults now."

Jake looks at me, but I continue staring up at the sunlight. "What do you mean? My sisters and brother?"

"No, the Reaping," I say, picking at the grass underneath me. "According to the Capitol, we're not kids anymore."

"What the Capitol says doesn't mean shit," he spits out.

"What the Capitol says is the only thing that matters," I say with a frown, finally meeting his eyes. "What else?"

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

The Peacekeepers aren't an unfamiliar sight. They're all anonymous, practically all the same person. Really not even a person, just a body with armor and a gun. Guns that I'm also quite familiar with from the orchards.

I ditch Obadiah as soon as we reach the Square, heading to the line as soon as possible. The air is somber and dampened with the spirit of the Reaping, even more so than usual. But I find myself grinning as I wait for my turn to get my finger pricked. Everyone is so worried about death coming for them, apparently not realizing that it's coming no matter what.

The Peacekeeper waves me forward. I extend my hand wordlessly and do my best not to wince as a bead of blood appears on my finger. It's wiped on the paper and I'm allowed to move onward. I slowly walk to the sixteen-year old's section, reaching into my pocket to touch the rosemary earring as I observe the distraught expressions on everyone's faces. My grandmother didn't die from any foul play, just natural causes, but that's the thing about death. Born in a horrible place fraught with starvation, exhaustion, and abuse from our overlords, but she lived to eighty-nine before dying of old age. That's what death is after all: just a grim reaper playing jokes on humanity.

I enter the sixteen-year old section, observing the other boys. Most of the them have put on a brave expression, but who knows if they're actually terrified underneath. I can tell a few of them are bouncing back and forth on the balls of their feet, their faces drawn with distress. I smirk to myself and simply place myself in the front of the group, hopefully where the camera will see me. I'm more light skinned than many people in Eleven, and the cameras seem to love us "unique" citizens.

Despite myself, my eyes scan the crowd as they often do in situations like these, for Georgie. Her dark hair and skin, freckles dotting her face. I remember her pretty face the night I ended things, tears as plentiful as the freckles against her skin. I remember the words as clear as day, _shut the hell up, Thorn_. I've heard those words so many times, said them so many times, in my life that I didn't register just how serious she was until I told her to make herself scarce, and she did it without complaint.

A boy comes to stand beside me with a loud huff, his eyes wide and scared. His arms are tense and lifted up strangely in a way that's unnatural. He notices me looking and glances over at me curiously.

"Never seen someone do that with their arms," I say. "You have a disease or something?"

He narrows his eyes at me, but just relaxes his shoulders and looks away. So much for that. So little entertainment on the Reaping because everyone is strung so tight, I just can't push them far enough to give me anything interesting. It's quite disappointing considering today is mostly a joke anyway.

The mayor steps up to the stage, his eyes blank as he recites the same speech about Eleven being the fruit basket of Panem and the graciousness of the Capitol. I have to silence my snort as he steps back, allowing the escort to take his place. The escort is like a ghost in a town of painfully alive bodies. Her eyes are bright white, her hair done in dreadlocks perhaps in the typical style of Eleven girls, but dyed white to make it look ridiculous. Her teeth gleam when she smiles under the bright fluorescent lights. Her skin is as pale as powdered milk

"Happy Hunger Games, everyone!" she cries. "My favorite district! May the odds be ever in your favour!"

As she prances to the girl's bowl, I notice the glass bowls are tethered to their podium in a strange new way. I feel a smile prick at the corners of my mouth when I remember last year, when the Reaped boy had knocked the bowl on the ground. I remember how it had shattered so loudly and suddenly, so unexpected. It was probably one of the mosts interesting things that's happened at one of these Reapings.

The escort grabs a thin slip, waving it in the air teasingly as she walks back to the microphone. The crowd is silent, holding their breath to see who the poor girl would be who would die soon… although she was going to die anyways. I'd put my money on a young girl, poor, with dark skin. The exact opposite of last year's Capitolite girl.

"The lucky lady is… Luna Everett!"

The twelve-year old who mounts the stage is almost exactly what I guessed, but her eyes are bright green instead of the normal brown. Something to set her apart, which will surely aid her in getting sponsors. She sets her jaw as she stands beside the escort, but I can tell it's to stop her from crying rather than out of determination. Her eyes are green and wavering like the leaves of the trees, filled with unspilled tears. The cameras zoom in on her. The cute, pitiable girl that the Capitol will love for sure.

"You're so adorable!" the escort cooes, reaching out to touch the girl's braided hair. "Would anyone like to volunteer for such a lovely young lady?"

There are birds singing in the trees, their songs carried by the cool breeze. I can hear a few distant wails of horror from the streets behind us, where the excess of district citizens are standing, watching on screens.

"Wonderful!" the escort squeals, her heels clicking on the stage as she makes her way to the boy's bowl. She plucks a name from the side and prances back to the mic. "I'm on the edge of my seat!" she comments, unfolding the slip.

"Thorn Guerra!"

I'm actually not surprised. I know I'm not exactly above a death such as this, along with the bloodthirsty Careers and orphans turned murderers. More than anything, I simply remember all the things I've written about the Reaping. About how there is no cosmic justice, and how death simply walks among us to create chaos. I gulp as I step out from my section and walk to the stage, my feet like concrete blocks that fall to the ground with each step.

As I mount the stage, I realize that everyone else is looking at me with thinly veiled relief, glad it wasn't them or someone they know. I feel anger rising slowly inside me when I realize they are glad to see me gone, even if they don't know who I am. I look down and realize my hands are shaking. From anger, fear, or nerves, I'm not sure.

"Such a handsome man." The escort winks at me. "Would anyone like to volunteer?"

Of course not. The audience gapes at me open-mouthed, their nerves finally dispelled now that the Reaping is over.

"Quite a pair! I smell a victor among us!" the escort grins widely. "Why don't you shake hands?"

The little girl Luna turns to me, her eyes wide and fearful. She's doing her best to hold herself together, but she's not victor material as the escort says. I reach out to take her hand, giving it one strong shake before dropping it.

"I think you're smelling persimmons," I tell the escort. She gives me a strange look, but I don't care.

...

The Peacekeepers who usher us back into the Justice Building might be the same ones who have killed people before. They might be the ones who, as I sat up in the trees picking oranges, yelled at rebellious or slow workers and sometimes threatened them with their guns. The ones who splattered blood on the leaves of the orchard trees, their victims' screams finally silenced. I stare up at the masked face of one who escorts me back to my room. Could they be one of the vicious executioners who patrol the orchards?

They drop me off in a back room, the walls covered in diagrams of when different fruits ripen, how to protect the roots of trees for the winter, how and when to plant new seeds and care for sproutlings. I stop in interest at an infographic about grafting. I've spent several summers of my life grafting trees together that I consider myself an expert on the subject, but the pictures are like hieroglyphs to me. The photographs on the walls are of old orchard workers from before the Dark Days. Their hard, lined faces don't look too different from today's.

I'm surprised when the door opens so soon, wondering if it's time to head to the train station. "I hope you're short so the photographers will be able to see me," I say, turning around to see Georgie instead of the Peacekeepers I was expecting. Her eyes are sad, but she isn't crying or wailing like I might have expected. The freckles are scrunched up on her nose in the way they do when she's upset. I barely see her mother outside the door, her head bowed and hands folded in front of her, before the door closes.

"Hey, Thorn," Georgie says. We haven't spoken in months. In my head, I watch a kaleidoscope of memories; us drinking on the train tracks that lead out of the district, the night I lost my grandmother's second rosemary earring. The two of us slipping out after curfew to walk the streets hand in hand like Georgie insisted. Her dark hair falling into her face some nights in the attic.

"Georgie," I simply say. "I take it the mayor's son is letting you out of the basement for the Reaping." Georgie's family works as gardeners for the mayor. "You better get back before he realizes you're gone."

"You like the sound of your own voice too much," she says with a small smile. _Shut the hell up._

"Well, it's a great voice," I say, cocking my head to the side. "You've come to see me?"

"I thought someone should see you off."

I hear the undercurrent truth of the words: she knows that Obadiah doesn't care enough to say goodbye. She'll be the last familiar face I see before leaving for the Capitol. She doesn't want me to be alone, though she must know I couldn't care less about leaving District Eleven or even my own death in the Games. She's always been soft for me, a softness I've never understood.

"Well, I'm seeing you," I say, the words coming out like venom. Georgie gives me a pained smile and moves forward for a hug, which I hesitantly return. I allow her to wrap her arms around me for a second before pushing her away. The words she said to me that night still resound in my head, too insurmountable.

"I hope you come home," she says, turning to leave.

"I hope I don't get a stupid outfit in the parade," I say, but I can feel my expression betraying me. A horrible outfit will mean more attention, after all.

Georgie huffs in amusement, seeing right through me, and gives me one last smile before leaving.

 _Strange_ , I think. I reach into my pocket to touch the rosemary earring. I did enjoy Georgie's presence when we were together. Perhaps I should have gotten to know her better.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

Despite before the Reaping, my hands do not shake at all. In fact, I feel more stable than I have in days. Now that the Reaping is over with, and I know for sure that I am the chosen tribute, I can start working on a strategy. A way to come back home, instead of trying to ignore the possibilities.

I hear the door open behind me and I turn from where I was staring at a diagram of a pomegranate tree. My family pours in, all of them crying except for Roselle, who seems more confused than anything. I take Abella into my arms. She's too young to understand what's happening, just crying because our parents are. I rock her gently as everyone brings gathers around me.

"My sweet Luna," my mother cries, reaching out to stroke my hair. "They've taken you away from us."

"She'll come back, though, right?" Roselle says with a frown, looking back and forth between us.

"I'm coming back," I assure her, grabbing her hand. "I won't let you down."

"You're so beautiful and strong, dear," my father says firmly, a contrast to the tears glistening on his cheeks. "You have everything a victor needs. And everyone is on the lookout for twelve-year olds this year, anyway. You can do this."

I nod, feeling determination rise inside me. I will do whatever it takes to return to my family.

A few more minutes pass before the Peacekeepers come. But I don't feel sad as they leave; my mind is empty of everything except how to win. I start listing my strengths in my head- good climber, knowledge of plant life, survival under periods of stress and low food supply, know how to use a knife, eyesight that's better than most…

The door opens again. I look up and realize that Jake is standing there, the light of the hallway lighting around his head like a halo. He gives me his trademark smirk, but I can see the hidden fear in his eyes.

"Hey, Lunes," he says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

I give him a small smile. "Honestly… I'm fine."

Jake half-smiles. "I know you too well, Lunes. You're going to do so well. You were right, you're an adult now. Maybe I'm not… but you are." He steps forward, reaching into his pocket and drawing something out. It's a small silver chain with a charm attached, glinting in the artificial light. It's a little bird, it's beak open delicately to sing an imaginary song. I feel my eyes tear up as I take it from him, cupping it in my palm. I look up at him from under my eyelashes, sniffling a little.

"Thank you, Jakie," I say, drawing him in for a hug. "I'll bring it back to you, I promise."

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. One more Reaping to go! I hope to post it before the end of the week, before school starts again for me. But we'll see!**

 **Leave a review with what you think of Thorn and Luna!**


	14. D12 Reaping: Flipside

**Hey everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks to** ** _GeorgeMellark6_** **and** ** _districtfours_** **for these tributes!**

* * *

 _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_

Work is what keeps me sane, so Reaping day is the ultimate nightmare for me. No markets open to rob, no rich townies out and about with their guards down. Everyone is stressed today, and they're never easy to steal from. All on the day when I need it most, when my stress levels are at their annual highest. So instead of spending my mornings with Roman and Lucy pickpocketing people in the town square, I'm getting ready to head there for the Reaping.

I feel slight discomfort rise in my throat as I think about standing in the Square as the escort in her ridiculous pink flowery outfit picks a slip of paper. I've done this six times before, but Dornan says that the last time is the worst, and I see what he means now. I twirl my silver ring around my finger anxiously, and immediately stop. I don't want anyone to see that I'm not as carefree as usual.

"Are you ready for breakfast, Terra?" Dornan's soft voice issues through my bedroom door.

I open it and smile at him, his blue eyes and olive skin that are reminiscent of my own. "I'll be right there." He returns my smile and leaves for the kitchen, the main room in our rotting shack. We're lucky enough now to have seperate bedrooms, a luxury we didn't have at the group home.

Outside my window, I feel a cool breeze blowing in from the broken glass. On my lone dresser, my collection of trinkets that I've stolen over time. I shiver as I put my hair into two pigtails, one over each shoulder. My curly hair is hard to tame, but I manage to straighten it out enough to put it in a suitable hairstyle for the Reaping. I sigh and hope the ceremony will be over as soon as possible.

As I step out into the kitchen, I realize the door is open, letting in the pale sunlight as it streams across the floor and its creaking floorboards. The table is set with our only two plates and forks, some fried eggs and bread set out for us.

"It looks good, Dornan," I say.

He turns around from the counter, where he's chopping a large carrot. "Thanks," he says with a pleasant smile. As I pull my chair out, I recall that this is the first time we've had a meal together since the last Reaping. The air is a little still and uncomfortable, but I keep a neutral smile on my face as he sits down next to me. It's not like we mean to have drifted apart in the past few years; I still want to have a close relationship with my brother.

"How has work been?" I ask him, placing some eggs in my mouth. A breeze drifts in from outside, bringing with it the scent of concrete and grass, the sounds of dogs barking.

He looks at me with surprise, his eyebrows raised. "Fine. Good, even. I might be up for a promotion soon."

I perk up. "More money?" A promotion might mean more food, better clothes, a new window for my bedroom so I'm not lying awake freezing at night.

"Maybe. I'm not sure yet, but my manager says I'm one of the best workers in his crew."

"Damn right you are," I say, high-fiving him. He grins a little, but I'm not sure if it's from pride or if he realizes, as I do, that we still interact like teenagers. He's twenty-six now, having worked in the mines for eight years now.

"How are you feeling?" he asks me, chewing on a piece of carrot noisily.

"Oh, I'm fine," I say. "I just want it to be over. I get so bored when I'm not out in the streets… but Peacekeepers are everywhere today."

"Just take the day off," he says. "I'm sure you and your friends can find something else to do."

"What are you going to do?" I ask curiously. I always spend so much time outside of the house with Roman and Lucy that I don't really have any idea what he does when he's not in the mines.

"Sleep," he says simply. "Hopefully all day."

For the first time in a while, I can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lined wrinkles of his face and the coal dust that never truly leaves his skin. He seems to have aged thirty years in the past decade, while I've spent our time since the group home running around in the streets with my friends.

"You should," I tell him. "I'll try and get us something for dinner."  
"I'm sure you will," he says with a small smirk. Dornan doesn't care that much about what I do during the day, no matter how illegal; as long as I bring food and money to the household.

"Terra?"

I look up to see Lucy standing in the doorway, her shadow casted over Dornan's face. She gives him an uneasy smile, not really knowing him. I shove the last of my food into my mouth and hasilty stand, pulling on my light jacket. I smile apologetically at Dornan, but he doesn't seem bothered. He waves me onward with a light, "Go do whatever you want. I'll see you after the Reaping."

I nod in understanding and head outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air and already feeling my true self returning. I'd like to be closer to my brother, but nothing compares to being out here on these streets. Lucy smiles at me as we head for Roman's house.

"I think we should go raid the Hob while it's closed," Lucy says with a grin. "Have ourselves a feast. That nasty old lady who wouldn't give us mushrooms deserves it."

"She does," I agree. "But I think the Peacekeepers will suspect us. We should take the day off and scout some targets for tomorrow."

Lucy knocks on Roman's door, a slab of rotting wood on a crumbling shack, like most of the houses here in the Seam. The door opens, Roman's grinning face appearing. He gives us finger guns as he closes the door behind him, ignoring the yells of his mother from inside. We leave as quickly as possible, wanting to avoid her wrath. We've done this so many times that it's like second nature. The only difference is that Lucy and I are in dresses and Roman is in a red dress shirt instead of our usual street rat outfits.

"Do we have a plan for today?" he says.

"We're picking out targets today," Lucy says smugly. "Who should we scope out?"

"Peacekeepers," I say, my voice harder than usual. "I need more trinkets." That's what we call the worthless things we steal to simply get back at someone, not to sell. And for everything that the Peacekeepers have done to us over the years, Hunger Games included, they deserve to have it

Both of them give me a side-eye. "Is something wrong, Terra?" Roman asks in a low voice, like someone might hear.

I snap back into reality, giving him an uneasy shadow of my usual smirk. "Yeah, something's wrong; I'm here with you idiots. But we really should look for some easy Peacekeeper targets while we're at the Reaping."

"I second that motion," Lucy says.

 _Rylex Steele (17)- D12M_

Like most Reaping days, I wake up to the smell of pastries baking and stew cooking on the stove. My mother's talents are greatly desired on holidays, especially Reaping day when no one wants extra stress of cooking for their families' celebrations. Her cooking is legendary around Twelve. It's the only thing that's kept us from living in the Seam.

I yawn and lean up to stretch my arms, blinking sleepily. It's rare to have a day off from the mines, and while it's a shame that I have to spend part of it standing in the Square, I still appreciate getting to sleep in. Amongst the other smells floating in my bedroom door, I can make out the pancakes that are specifically for me and smile.

I quickly pull on my Repaing clothes, the only nice outfit that I have. It's strange not to be wearing my mining uniform, heading to the mines at the crack of dawn and settling my helmet over my head. Instead, the sun streams through the cracks in the wooden house, the sound of birds and dogs outside making me smile. I so rarely get to see the district during the day.

I wander into the kitchen, where Ma is waiting. She turns from stirring a pot of soup and smiles at me. "Good morning, Rylex dear. Are you hungry?"

"Always, Ma," I say with a grin. "You know that." I sit at the table and immediately begin shoving pancakes into my mouth, groaning in approval. "You really are the best cook in the district."

"You are the sweetest," she says in her tremulous voice. She painstakingly comes to sit across from me, reaching across the table to take my hand. I can see the worry in her eyes, but I don't acknowledge it. I've spent most of my life being strong for her, because of what happened to my father, my brother, and her own injuries. I can't let her see any fear inside me.

"It's not just me that thinks so," I say, nodding pointedly to the pots of various foods that are steaming on the stove, full of meals for other people.

She smiles, stands again with a pained groan that catches my concern, but she ambles back to her food just fine. She's been basically immobile ever since her other son died five years ago on the television, a Career slicing open his throat in the bloodbath. My own throat closes at the thought, pushing it away with another forkful of pancake. I try to think about Alden as little as I can, staying as positive as possible. I only have to get through today.

I'm sure Ma is thinking about Alden as well, but she doesn't mention him. It's better to live in the present instead of in the past, when my father died in the mines, my brother in the Games, and the distress that both of these things have brought her. I don't want to pile on the misery, especially now that I've started working in the mines. The possibility that I'll end up in an accident hands over my head everyday, but I can't allow myself to dwell on it.

"Promise me you'll come back right after the ceremony is over," Mas tells me, her back turned.

"I will," I say. Ma is too weak to leave the house, and the Peacekeepers let her stay and watch the broadcast on the television instead. I imagine she'll be too exhausted after so much cooking and moving around that she won't be able to get out of bed for days.

After finishing my breakfast, I stand and give Ma a kiss on her temple, on the wisps of her prematurely gray hair. She gives me a long-suffering smile and waves me off. After opening the door, I almost run into Siggo, who is waiting for me right outside. I steady myself with my hands on his shoulders and laugh.

"Sorry, Siggo," I say, standing up straight. He gives me a sideways smile, but the twinkle in his eye in a little dimmer than usual.

"Hey, Rylex. Are you ready to leave?"

"Just leaving now," I say.

"Bye, Mrs. Steele!" Siggo calls into the house as we bounce down the porch. I take note of his hollow cheeks and can't help but wonder when the last time he ate. Siggo has a huge family and not much food to go around, but never accepts my offer of bringing him food from Ma's kitchen.

"Hey, Rylex!"

Many people greet me and as we walk down the street, headed for the Square. Some of them are people we work with in the mines, others are simply people I've come across at the market or in their shops, or just made conversation with at some point.

"I never get you to myself," Siggo says dryly as another girl waves at me from across the porch.

"We spend most of our time together," I tease. "That's not enough for you?" It's not a lie- we're on the same crew in the mines and are together practically every second when we're not sleeping.

"Even then I have to share you with Plosa," he says with a wink. I roll my eyes and speed up slightly so he has to stretch his much shorter legs farther to keep up.

"Plosa doesn't have a choice," I say. Plosa is our crew manager, more like a friend to his workers than a boss. But he ends up spending lots of time with Siggo and I in our downtime. He's not much older than us, only in his early twenties, so he's easy to relate to.

"Of course he does," Siggo says incredulously. "He could hang out with anyone in the crew but he chooses you. Just like everyone."

I huff and turn away, not denying it. Siggo thinks mentions my popularity around the district a lot to compliment me, but he doesn't realize what effort I have to put into being uplifting and positive all the time. People like me who have been through hardships have to try everyday to remain optimistic, even if I'm naturally positive.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Rylex," Siggo says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I turn around to give him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. We need to hurry before the ceremony starts."

As we pick up the pace, I try to smile as much as possible at passerby. God knows everyone needs a little extra positivity today. Most people recognize me and wave back, their blank eyes brightening for a moment before returning to despair. I try to push down my own feelings of melancholy as much as possible, not letting them show on my face. Siggo and I are silent as we wait in line to get our fingers pricked, save a slight wince from Siggo as the bead of blood drops onto the paper.

I lead him with an eye smile to the seventeen-year olds' section, where we stand until the mayor steps up to give his usual speech. As he drones on and on, I glance into the crowd and spot Plosa, who is standing near the ropes on the outskirts of the Square. He winks at us and I suddenly start to suppress giggles. Siggo realizes what I'm doing and starts to laugh as well, both of us trying to stay quiet. Some people shift beside us, but only look on with amusement and fondness.

As the escort approaches the mic, I panic start to rise in my throat again, but I swallow it down, feeling my stomach rolling with nausea. She's covered in flowers this year, purple and pink and white. She gives us a garish grin as her lips hover just above the mic.

"I'm so excited to be here!" she squeals, but I can see the insincerity in her eyes. She probably wishes she was in any other district, even Eleven or Ten. She snaps her fingers as if to try to get the point across faster. "My favorite district! Shall we start with the girls?"

My mind starts racing with the possibilities. I know many of the people here in Twelve, even just casually, and I've seen many acquaintances leave and never return. Thoughts of my brother fill my head, and despite how strongly I try to push them away, they cling to the inside of my skull and bounce around painfully.

"And the lucky girl is… Terra Flint!"

Thank god, one name I don't know. The girl who appears onstage is eighteen, strong, and angry. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her long dark hair in two long pigtails down her front. Her eyes are blue like mine, quite a rarity in Twelve, and they're filled with rage. But she isn't staring at the cameras or even at the escort accusingly; instead she's looking at the ground with something akin to shame and guilt.

"What a gorgeous young lady! Would anyone like to volunteer for Miss Flint?"

The Square is silent, as usual. Volunteering in Twelve in practically unheard of.

"Wonderful? Shall we move on to the boys?"

Effie prances to the boy's ball, and I can't help but tense up, images of my brother's Reaping playing in my head. I remember being twelve again, my first Reaping when I was nervous for only myself, hearing my brother's name pass from the escort's lips.

"Rylex Steele!"

But… that wasn't my brother's name. I look around in confusion and realize Siggo is staring at me in horror. I let out a huge sigh, all of the fears I've tried to hide over the years releasing at once. I place a smile on my face and walk resolutely up to the stage. Ma is watching from home, carrying enough sorrow for both of us. I raise my shoulders but keep a pleasant smile on my face as I mount the stairs.

I wave to the crowd as I come to stand beside Terra Flint. I don't want any of them to feel sorry for me; after all, I am strong from working in the mines, and I'm likeable enough that the Capitol might warm up to me. I won't let this defeat me.

 _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_

I understand what's happening here. Karma is coming for me after so long, so many heists and break ins around the district, stealing from other robbers or Peacekeepers or some guy that apparently beat his wife last week. I only ever tried to steal from people who deserved it, but I must have made a wrong decision somewhere along the way. Or maybe karma is really on the side of the Capitol and their Peacekeepers.

The wooden door swings open and Dornan walks in, his face stricken. I can hear Roman and Lucy bickering outside, but the sound is drowned out when the door swings shut.

"Hey, Terra," Dornan says. I meddle with my ring nervously around my finger, wondering what he has to say to me. That I shouldn't have taken out tesserae that time when I was thirteen and just wanted to help around the house? Or maybe he was just here to wish me luck.

He sat down beside me with a drawn out sigh, head bowed. "Do you remember when I gave you that ring?" he asks, gesturing towards it.

I look down at the simple silver band. "Not really…"

I just remember always having it, ever since I was little. It was big on my finger when I was a kid, so big I had to wear it on my thumb until my fingers grew larger. I remember twirling around my finger, a nervous habit, as the other kids in the Care Home were scolded for crimes that I committed. I remember Dornan's silent stillness beside me in our little bed, knowing what I'd done.

"It was our father's," Dornan says with a pained smile. I feel my breath catch in my throat: he hardly ever talks about our parents, but being eight years older than me, he has a few memories of them. "He gave it to me before he left us at the Home," he says it in a sad tone. "I still don't know why they left us, Terra." His eyes are swimming with uncharacteristic emotion. "I know that they loved us, but I never saw them again, not even when I started looking for them when I was older. I always tried to be the best brother I could be for you, but I was just a child too. I'm sorry we never really…"  
I lean forward to hug him, both of us sitting in silence in each other's embrace for a little while. I don't tell him all the things I should- that I always appreciated him for working for the both of us, allowing me to do whatever I want, even if it some cosmic way I'm sure it ended me up in this situation. I'll tell him all of that when I get back.

Roman and Lucy come next, both of them still shellshocked by the Reaping. Roman gives me a hug, while Lucy stands there and gapes at me.

"Already run out of things to say arguing with each other," I say with a raised eyebrow, drawing away from Roman. "I heard you guys."

Lucy still stares at me, too shocked for words. I sigh and wave her over for a hug as well. "You look like a fish."

"We were arguing with the Peacekeepers," Roman says suddenly, his tone serious. "They didn't want to let in Lucy or some reason. Listen, Terra. You can do this. The Capitol will love you."

"I don't think they'll be fond of a thief," I say doubtfully.

"You're funny and you have a quick mouth," he insists. "Promise you'll do the best you can."

"No, I'll try to be the first one killed," I say sarcastically, snorting when I realize I proved his point. "I'll try to come home. I promise."

 _Rylex Steele (17)- D12M_

The first time the door to my little waiting room opens, I'm surprised to see the mayor's apologetic smile, the door closing behind him. He fiddles with his pocket a little bit, then clears his throat and says, "I'm here with a message from your mother."

I stand quickly, swallowing hard to prevent seeming overeager in front of the district's leader. "You spoke with her?"

"I figured someone should bring you her last words to you. Before you leave, I mean," he adds on quickly, but I can see the pity in his eyes, the assumption that I won't return.

"What did she say?" I ask past the hard lump in my throat.

"She says she has all the faith in Panem that you'll return to her. She forgives you for whatever you have to do in the Games, as it's the nature of the competition. And she… urges you to do it for your brother, Alden."

I wonder if Mayor Undersee even remembers Alden. Does he recall each face and name of the children he sends to their deaths, or does he try to suppress them?

"Thank you," I say. "Will you tell her I will do all of that, and that I love her, and to stay strong?"

"I will go tell her right away," he says, eyes crinkling with a sad smile. "I wish you the best, Rylex."

He disappears without another word. Before I can wrap my mind around the idea that I might have just had my last conversation with my mother through someone else, the door opens again. This time, it's Plosa, his ruddy face already red with exertion and sorrow. I can hear commotion outside, and Siggo's angry voice.

"Rylex," Plosa says, standing tall with a tear in his eye. "You're the best miner i've ever had the pleasure of working with. Won't you come back home as quick as you can?"

"I promise," I say, astonished at his forwardness. Plosa is always kind, but not a man of many words. He gives me a hug, then turns away quickly as if afraid to look at me. "I'm going to let Siggo in now and block the door so you can have some time together, alright?" he asks me gruffly, leaving before I can answer or ask why he would have to block the door.

He forces his way out the door, then Siggo stumbles inside, his face set and determined. True to his word, Plosa seems to be keeping out the Peacekeepers, at least for the meantime.

"They don't want boys your age visiting you for some reason," Siggo explains with a huff at my questioning expression. "But they can't stop me from seeing you."

I laugh a little, taken aback by his passion to see me when we were just together. "I'm glad you came, Siggo. I'll miss you."

"You better," he says fiercely. "You better fight as hard as you can, you hear me?" His hands grasp mine and shake them vigorously. "You have to come back. You _will_ come back."

"I will," I say slowly, looking into his eyes to calm him down. "But even if I don't, don't worry about me."

He growls, but doesn't argue with me. "Just say you'll do your best."

"When have I ever done anything different?" I ask with a grin. I suddenly realize how close he is to me, and I'm overcome with the desire to kiss him on the cheek. I give him a quick kiss, intended as a precursor for what can happen if I return, but he huffs again and pulls me in for a real kiss.

The commotion outside grows louder, and I can hear Plosa yelling to us to hurry up. I'm confused, but also pleased when Siggo pulls away and gives me a smile before heading to the door.

"Don't let them arrest you," I call after them, but I'm sure they'll be fine. Stupid rules like this are hardly ever followed here in Twelve, especially if they're new. They'll just get off with a warning.

But my own fate will be much worse if I don't focus on how to return to Twelve, to my mother, to Siggo, even Plosa. To honor the memory of Alden, who died too early in a way that was too violent for him. I will find my way back.

* * *

 **I hope this was a satisfactory last Reaping! Can you believe they're finally over? Who are your favorites tributes from what we've seen so far? What are your early predictions? I'm curious to know :D**

 **I'm back at school now, so updates likely will be less frequent as they were in the past two weeks, but once summer rolls around they will come much quicker. I have three research papers due in the coming weeks and I may be passable at writing fiction but I suck at writing academic papers. Pray for me.**

 **I'm excited to move on to the train rides! Our district partners will be interacting for the first time, and soon we will be in the Capitol.**


	15. Train Rides

**Hey everyone! Sorry for the late update for this chapter, but it's a little longer than the others which hopefully makes up for it. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M_

As the Peacekeepers prepare us for our walk to the car, the two of us standing stoically side by side, I can't help but grin. I've been preparing for this moment my whole life, the moment that I'll be able to show my face as an official tribute in the Hunger Games. Then I realize I've already had so many moments I've dreamed about for years, volunteering, standing on stage with the bright lights shining on me, and now standing beside my district partner as we begin our journey to the Games. And there will so many more to come, all leading up to the most important one when I stand on Caesar Flickerman's show with that victor's crown on my head.

I whoop for joy, unable to help it. Marlowe startles next to me, then returns to her sulky silence. She's usually more bubbly than this, but maybe she's having second thoughts, or just thinking about her parents. It's not like I can't relate to missing my family. I know it will be a hard few weeks without my mother, but she will be supporting me from afar.

"Are you ready?" A Peacekeeper appears in front of our entourage, their voice coming out robotic and androgynous sounding.

"I was born ready!" I shout, pumping my arms in preparation for the cameras that will surely be shoved in our faces.

"Me too!" Marlowe chirps, suddenly smiling like gold again. Her hair gleams and her eyes are bright blue, a perfect picture of a Career girl. I'm lucky enough to at least have someone attractive to look at for the coming week.

The Peacekeeper nods and the doors to the Justice Building are swung open. Sunlight streams in, but more blinding are the reporters and their flashing cameras that are all vying for a glimpse of Four's precious tributes. I wave charismatically to the cameras the Peacekeepers march us to the car, which is waiting only a few paces away.

"Faroud, what is your strategy for the Games?" one of the cameramen asks frantically, snapping several shots in quick succession.

"Same as everyone: kill," I say with a laugh, letting my natural deep voice flow out.

I make sure to tighten my muscles as we make our way to the car, which takes longer than I expected due to the large influx of people. I can hear the other reporters asking Marlowe similar questions: How does she keep her hair so shiny and luscious? What's her secret to staying thin? How does she plan to stand out in the Career pack? She answers them all flawlessly, ending each one with a little giggle and a hairflip. She laughs at one of their compliments as the car door opens and we're ushered inside.

"That was incredible!" I exclaim after the door shuts, all sound drowned out. "I hope there are more of them in the Capitol."

"I do too," Marlowe says with a pleasant smile. Her eyes seem duller than they did outside, but she's still the picture of the Golden Girl of Four.

The escort, who is sitting in the passenger seat, laughs with abandon. "There will be, don't you worry. But try to save some for your interview! You want to stay mysterious for the time-being."

She's right. Everyone can tell that I'm a beast from my body and my confidence- with a dash of dark, brooding Career, I'll be the perfect candidate for sponsorships.

I glance next to me, where Marlowe is adjusting her hair, batting her eyelashes as if she's practicing. Of course, my biggest competition might be right here beside me. No one can say Four hasn't trained great tributes.

As we approach the train, the reporters clamor louder as their last chance to speak with us comes to an end. The car doors open and we're shoved inside the compartment before we can even think about smiling for the cameras, the train door closing shut coolly behind us.

The 78th Hunger Games have officially begun.

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8M_

My jaw drops at the sight of the train's interior. Crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, glass cases full of priceless china dishware, dark wooden tables so shiny that it would be a shame to eat from them.

"Ho-ly shit…" I breathe, my eyes taking everything in. I knew the Capitol was rich, but I didn't think we'd be subjected to it right away. Hell, all this is only a mile or two away from where I live, just sitting here waiting for us.

"It's quite nice, isn't it?" the escort says in her strange lilting accent, drifting to the table and taking a seat with a long sigh, like she's the one with worries.

"It sure as hell is," I say with a breathless laugh, collapsing onto one of the plush sofas in front of the television. I've never sat on something so comfortable. "This thing melds to the shape of my butt!" I call back to my district partner, who is still standing, shellshocked, in the doorway. His eyes dart around nervously, his thin frame seized with anxiety and perhaps the strain of holding back tears, but I've already recovered from my breakdown in the waiting room. I'm ready for whatever the Capitol throws at me.

"Do you want to sit down?" I gesture to the seat next to me. "If we're going to be allies, we'll have to get to know each other."

His eyes rest on me, narrowing in either suspicion or confusion. "...Allies?" he says finally, like the words is new to his tongue. I nod, and he only hesitates slightly before coming to gingerly perch on one of the armchairs.

"What makes you think we're going to be allies?" he asks. This time, he's definitely suspicious of me, his too-skinny face boring into mine, eyes a hard grey. He's far too pale, too, like he doesn't get enough sunlight. A far cry for my skin tone, which is naturally darker but even more so from all the time I spend outside painting.

"Of course we are," I say with a frown. "Planning on allying with someone else?"

He stares at me for a little while, then leans back a little, still making eye contact with me. "I don't know you yet."

Outside, I can hear Peacekeepers and reporters clamoring around, trying to get us ready for the departure. I snort at a loud clank against the side of the compartment, just as the escort leaps up with a "Goodness gracious! They should be more careful!" She rushes away into some other compartment, presumably to scold the bystanders.

My district partner- Thimble is I remember correctly, quite a common name here in Eight- watches her go with careful eyes. He's definitely an observant one.

"My name's Flux," I say, drawing his attention back to me. "I kind of know how to use a switchblade, and I was Reaped. What more do you need to know? We'll last longer together."

He takes a moment to think about it, then leans forward a little and stretches out his spidery hand, bones so prominent I'm afraid I'll break them when I shake it.

"Are you homeless or something?" I ask him. "Cause you should try to eat a lot before the Games."

He stares at me wordlessly as the train suddenly jolts forward, the journey begun.

"I used to be," he says in a quiet voice. "I know how to use knives too."

"Good to know." I lift my legs up onto the couch, wrapping one arm around my knees, the other grabbing the remote to switch on the TV. I notice Thimble fiddling with a silver locket around his neck, staring at nothing as the train softly hums in the background. The Panem emblem stains the screen of the television, national anthem blaring. It's time to see who our competition is.

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

The train is just how I imagined, though I didn't have the images in my head of what such luxury could look like, I could describe what it _felt_ like in some of my writing. I can see the words passing through my head, the strokes of my pen over paper. _Fresh and clean, unstained of suffering, the air light with a slightly unnatural taste to it_. _Lights too bright, the forced cheer stuffed down throats and blinding anyone who looks at it for too long_.

"Can you believe you're really going to the be in the Hunger Games!" the escort squeals, her milk-white eyes alight with excitement. She gives me the jitters in a strange way that only Capitolites can.

As my little district partner beside me stiffens and slowly walks to sit on the sofa, I turn to the escort and give her my best innocent smile. I'm not sure if there's any innocence left in me, but I must be able to emulate it since she smiles back.

"You're teeth are so white," I say conversationally. "How do you keep them looking like that?"

"Oh, a combination of teeth care and the right diet," she says, blushing underneath all of the pale makeup. "Thank you for noticing."

"How much do you spend on that stuff?"

Her face falls a little, but she's trying to keep up the cheerful charade. I hear Luna turn on the television behind me, the noise loud and all-encompassing in the vacuum of sound that is the train compartment.

"It depends on the month," the escort says with a polite smile, excusing herself from the room and hurrying through a doorway. So much for that experiment. Running away is a common defense mechanism when I poke at people's scars, but I prefer when they let me prod a little more.

The door of another compartment opens, this time to reveal Seeder's wizened old face, her eyes darting between us. She doesn't look impressed, merely gliding to the wine cabinet and pouring herself a glass.

"When do we start our training?" the little girl suddenly calls from the sofa, looking over at her mentor. Her green eyes are hard and determined.

Seeder's are contrastingly dull as she stares at her, taking a drink of glimmering red wine. "The Training Center is in charge of that." She turns to leave, just as Luna calls back after her.

"But what about our preparation for the Capitol?!"

The door slides shut with a nearly inaudible hiss of finality. Luna looks disappointed as the television continues to assault us with sound. As the screen is lit with the emblem of District Eleven, I slowly sit beside my partner, slouching over to lean closer, eager to see how I looked on camera. As my name is called, I'm pleased to see that I'm standing up straight, but my eyes are downturned and my hands are balled into fists, not as relaxed as I'd have hoped. I huff and lean backwards, propping my feet up on the glass coffee table.

"At least I did better than you," I comment to the girl, who had looked on the edge of tears at the sound of her name being called. She gives me a dirty look and jumps up, heading in the direction that Seeder had disappeared. Perhaps I should stick to myself for my final days. I snort, repositioning my limbs. So much for having some fun before my bloody end.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

"Would you like to come see your rooms?" the escort squeals, practically jumping up and down. My partner stares at her with his fists clenched, jaw set ferociously. It reminds me of the guard dogs back in the Skull Cult who would watch us with fascinated anger, ready to pounce at the merest threat. I keep my eyes on him suspiciously. I've learned throughout my life not to underestimate an animal that's been taught to attack anything and everything.

When neither of us answer her question, the escort deflates a little, but still gives us a bright smile and continues jabbering on as she leads us away from the dining compartment and through increasingly luxurious new compartments. I've never been in a place like this, so cushy and filled with such opulence. The cult always taught us that leisure and luxury would poison the soul and allow the darkness of evil to creep into our heads. My partner, whose name I've already forgotten, seems a little perplexed by the grandeur of the train as well, so perhaps the other inhabitants of Nine are taught similar things.

"Here's your room, my dear!" the escort says with gusto, dramatically thrusting open the door to reveal the largest bedroom I've ever seen. The grand bed in the middle of the room could probably fit three people, crystal mirrors, silver vanities, and windows that show the forests and fields passing by in a blur. It's strange to see the homeland I've spent my entire life in slip away in a matter of a few minutes.

"Have fun!" she chirps, giving me a light push inside. I turn around sharply, glaring at her with my green witch eyes that I've always been told have the power to curse anyone in the cult. Her smile falters a little as she backs away, drawing my partner back with her. The door closes and suddenly I'm alone.

I prefer it like this; silent, calm, with nothing to concentrate on except myself. I explore the room, taking interest in the closets, which are full of dozens of pretty clothes for me to try on. I've never worn anything except the brown day clothes that the cult provides for us. I curiously flip through the colorful dresses, wondering how I would look in some of them. Would the Capitol like me better if I was dressed ridiculously like them?

I wander into the bathroom, amazed at the cleanliness. I've never used a toilet before, so it's quite an experience to figure it out. After I've determined how to flush it, I peer into the shower, which is equipped with more buttons than I've ever seen. I strip naked and step inside, hitting random buttons. Some of them are pleasant, like the warm water that flows down over my body or spray me from all directions like a cool spring rain. But others are less so, assaulting me with rapid bursts of water that I have to switch off quickly, or drying me with air that is too hot and turns my skin red. The skull imprinted on my back is stark black against my skin in the mirror.

I redress in one of the plan black dresses, which hangs off my frame in a way that makes me look emaciated, though I've never thought of myself that way. I brush my bright red hair with a brush I found in one of the vanities and admire myself in the mirror. I actually don't look that different, just dressed in a darker color than usual. The silk dress feels nice against my skin compared to the harsh material of our cult clothes.

There's a knock at the door. I open it and see the drawn eyebrows of my district partner. "It's time for dinner," he says flatly. I look down at the brass pin that's attached to his shirt, and he shifts almost imperceptibly. I meet his eyes again and realize I might not have been right earlier- he isn't a guard dog. He's a fearful dog, afraid of losing his life and whoever gave him this pin. One that will do anything to survive.

"My name's Alder," he tells me as we walk to the main compartment.

"Blossom," I say, not looking at him. There's no point in socializing: I'd rather go it alone.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

As we sit at the polished cedar table, the ribbon in my hair comes undone and slips onto the floor. My massive head of hair erupts from its constraints like I was electrocuted. I quickly snatch the ribbon from the ground and shove my hair into a ponytail, smiling nervously at my tablemates.

"You certainly have some interesting hair, don't you?" the escort comments, spooning some lobster soup into her bowl. My district partner isn't paying attention to me at all, instead staring at the plates of food with hungry eyes.

"Make sure to eat up!" the escort chirps, motioning to the food for us. "You'll need your strength for the Games, won't you, my dears?"

The words sound like a threat, but the boy, Dylan, eagerly grabs some garlic bread and begins scooping himself some pasta. He doesn't seem perturbed at all by our environment, but I can't help the rapid beating of my heart as I carefully take some food. Dylan glances over to me and I can see a bit of curiosity in his eyes that isn't out of character of someone from Three. He opens his mouth to say something, then apparently thinks better of it and goes back to eating.

I shouldn't start to feel too comfortable around these people, even if I will be spending much of my time with them before the Games begin.

"So…" our escort says conversationally, a smile gracing her features. "What are your stories? What do you think you have to offer the Games?"

I stay stubbornly silent, slicing up my ham with purpose. Dylan chews for a moment before responding, but I can sense the hesitation in his voice as he reveals, "I work at the factory making parts. And I'm smart- my dad is a teacher at school."

"Ooh, an educated one," the escort says with fascination, as if everyone in Three doesn't have the same basic education at age sixteen.

"That's an angle," our mentor says with a gentle smile. He looks kind, but I can't imagine how many young tributes he's seen go into the Hunger Games and never return. He must be numb to it at this point, and that's why he seems so calm.

As my mind spirals out of control, I hear the escort address me now. "Caillou, dear, what about you?"

I swallow hard. "I'm no one. I just go to school."

Everyone believes me, apparently not expecting much from the spacey girl with the big hair. I suppose that's a good thing- I don't want anyone to expect anything from me, least of all any cleverness or lethality. No one has to know about my job as a detective, or my talent for mimicry, until the Games begin. Then the Capitol will truly see what I'm made of.

"What do you think you can bring to the table?" the mentor asks, but I can see the deadness in his eyes as he brings another bite of pasta to his mouth.

"I think with some training, I can do well," I say in a small voice, not sure whether I'm intending to sound soft or not. He nods and gets back to his food as the escort and Dylan strike up a conversation.

"You're missing a finger!" the escort shrieks suddenly, almost knocking me off my chair. I lift up my left hand, where the ring finger is indeed missing. I lost it after a dog bite turned gangrenous, but I didn't tell anyone until it was too late. I still don't really know why I didn't say anything. The escort eyes the space where my finger should be with thinly veiled disgust and fascination, then turns back to Dylan.

"What sorts of things do you make in the factory?" she asks him, helping herself to more bread. I delicately take a piece for myself, breaking it open and smelling it carefully. It smells delicious, like nothing I've ever tasted in Three. As I drift off into my own thoughts about recipes and strategy and what it would feel like to return home as a victor, I hear Dylan respond in the external world.

"Electronic parts for the Capitol," he says. The words come easily, but I can sense the shakiness of his voice that gives away his uncertainty. Neither of us have ever spoken with something from the Capitol before.

"That sounds so exciting!" the escort says with a clap. "The nation needs to know that you're good with your hands."

It looks like the two of us have different strategies for the Games, but that's okay. Hopefully I won't ever have to speak to him once we're set loose in the arena.

 _Callum Koche (18)- D1M_

As a cook for a wealthy family in District One, I've seen my fair share of good food. I know how to make something that my father bought at the black market into a gourmet soup that everyone at the dinner would fawn over. But this isn't like any of the dishes that I've made for the Mavros before. The meats are juicy and fall apart at the mere touch of my fork, with a scrumptious gravy and sweet wine that tastes like it was just squeezed from the grape vines. I chew slowly on each bite, savoring the juices that flood my mouth.

"This is the best food I've ever tasted!" Passion exclaims, shoveling another bit into her mouth. "You and your family have been slacking off, Callum," she shoots at me.

"Sorry, Passion," I say timidly.

"I'll have to get your parents to make some of this for me once I get back," she says.

"Does Callum work for you?" the escort asks, her voice smaller than I've ever heard her speak onstage.

"Yep," Passion says, popping the 'p' with her lips. She seems to realize that the escort is intimidated by her, smirking as she flicks her fingers in her direction. "So when are we going to start talking about our parade outfits? I have some ideas."

"The parade outfits are designed by the stylists," Augustus Braun drawls, eyeing Passion with suspicion. I can tell he's not happy about us taking the spot of the chosen volunteers for the year, but there's nothing he can do about it.

Passion looks at him and huffs, but I can see her sizing him up, looking him up and down with a smirk. "Well, you should know that my favorite outfit is my birthday suit," she says. "Perhaps they'd like to scrap their ideas for this year."

"That's up to them," Augustus says, sounding bored. He isn't falling for it at all, and Passion immediately rolls her eyes and turns to the escort, opening her mouth again.

"Maybe the stylist should take advantage of your motto, black is in, light is out," I dare to provide before she can speak again. Passion's head snaps to me, her piercing green eyes boring into me. Then she smiles, looking down at her dark black hair and satin black dress.

"You might have actually had a good idea for once," Passion says with a smile. She turns back to everyone else at the table, twirling her hands in the air dramatically. "We'll be dressed in all black luxury," she announces.

I smile gently, spooning some more gravy over my beef. I need to taste all of the notes of flavor to describe to Passion for her to deliver to my parents. At the thought of them, I glance down at the pink bracelet that Gemma gave me before I left. I place my other hand over it, feeling a fleeting moment of sadness at the realization that I'll ever see her again. Hopefully she'll get her bracelet back. I know it's one of her favorites.

"Shall we meet our competition?" Passion asks expectantly. Augustus sighs and motions to the television. She grins and springs up, bouncing over to the sofa and sprawling herself over it. I lightly follow her, sitting demurely in one of the armchairs. Avoxes quietly start to gather our used plates and silverware, their eyes downcast and faces drawn.

"Hey!" Passion calls to one of them, her eyes glancing around the room to make sure everyone is paying attention to her. "Can I have a glass of white sparkling champagne?"

One of the Avoxes bows their head in submission, pattering away. Passion pops her lips again and clicks through the channels, which are all giving overviews of the Reapings and predictions for the Games.

"Let's hope some of the guys are hot," she drawls.

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

I keep my eyes on our mentors as they murmur together in the corner of the room. If I've learned anything from my experience on the street, it's never to trust a morphling. Even with my mother, I would always be on guard whenever she was completely high. Not to mention that my district partner seems to be engrossed in himself, not at all paying attention to the other occupants of the train.

" _Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour, and may your favorite tribute win!"_

Screencaps of the Careers' faces are projected onto the screen, all of them beautiful and confident as usual. I sigh as the Three tributes show up, both looking terrified. The Five pair are both eighteen, both looking pretty well-fed and strong. I'm feeling more unsure of myself now that I'm seeing my competition. Seeing my own face during the Reaping definitely chips away some of my confidence- I look like a scared little homeless girl- exactly what I am. I nervously turn the little green gemstone Mary gave me over and over again in my fingers, reminding myself of why I have to do this. I've always been planning to volunteer eventually anyway, and now the universe is finally giving me a chance to change my life.

I have to do this. For my mother, to wean her off the morphling. For my brother's treatment, and for Mary's happiness. I will come back stronger than ever.

"I know you."

My head snaps to my district partner, Logan. He's staring at me with intense blue eyes, his prominent jaw set with determination. I sniff, putting my nose up at him. "No you don't. I don't sleep around, so don't even try it."

He raises an eyebrow at me with a light laugh. "I have a girlfriend. I'm just saying I've seen you before on the streets."

I look up at him from under my eyelashes, realizing there's no way he could be hitting on me. I must look exhausted and filthy as usual from the stress of living on the street, not to mention the Reaping, and I've never been a pretty one.

"Do you spend a lot of time on the streets?" I ask, somewhat interested in his answer.

"Some," he hums, focusing on the screen. The pair from Seven are siblings, one of them only twelve years old. Fairly easy targets if I say so myself. "I'm the leader of the Warriors. Have you ever heard of us?"

I frown a little, the name ringing a bell. "Maybe."

Logan gives me a small smile, turning back to the television as the Eight pair shows up. Neither of them look particularly strong either, probably easy prey for a Career or even another alliance.

The Warriors aren't exactly like the other gangs in Six. All of the gangs want to protect their neighborhood and keep out competition on the black market, but the Warriors aren't violent for the sake of it and are picky about their membership. I always thought they were a little pretentious, but their neighborhood was safe to wander through without fear of getting mugged.

"People who live on the streets are strong," Logan says, his eyes flickering over to me. "You know how to endure a lot."

I chew on my fingertip, narrowing my eyes at him. "Are you insinuating what I think you are?"

"We're stronger together," he says matter-of-factly. He points his thumb towards the screen, where the guy from Ten is standing, glowering at the camera. "Look at that guy. Don't tell me you don't want him on our team."

I slip the gemstone back into my pocket. "If we're going to do this, we need to have good judgement. Not just anyone."

"Of course not," he says earnestly. "I'm good at building teams, trust me."

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

My district partner isn't like anyone I've ever seen before, in Ten or One. She looks like a Capitolite's vision of what Ten citizens look like, with a buzzed haircut, a strong jawline and eyebrows, with a lip ring and piercing grey eyes. She's sprawled out over the sofa, a glass of sweet wine in her hand that she broke out of the alcohol cabinet. I'm sure the mentors wouldn't care since we're heading to our deaths anyway, and she certainly doesn't seem like a lightweight.

"Do you think the stylists will try to put me in a dress?" she asks with a wrinkled nose. I'm not sure if she's talking to me to herself, but then I see her watching me out of the corner of her eye.

"Outer districts don't have much of a say in that kind of thing," I say, watching the screen intently. The faces of the eleven pair flashes up, both of them looking stunned. I wouldn't say the little girl has a chance, but everyone's prediction were proved wrong last year. The guy doesn't look particularly strong either, but poor citizens will do anything to survive, even without training.

"How do you know so much about all of this?"

I glance over to see Caiden raising a bushy eyebrow at me, her one earring dangling and reflecting the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. She takes another sip of wine.

"Well? Are you some kind of Hunger Games aficionado? Are you like that Capitol girl from Eleven last year? You definitely don't look like you were born in Ten."

I try not to seem too nervous. "That's just what I've heard. And you don't exactly look like someone from Ten either."

She stares at me for a moment before her face is split with a huge grin. She downs the rest of her glass. "I'm sure as hell not!"

Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman are starting to comment on the Twelve pair, who are both older and look strong enough to do some damage. Some formidable opponents for sure.

"That guy's a miner," I say before I can stop myself. "Look at his arms."

Maybe I shouldn't be giving her tips, even if we're going to be friendly with each other. I shut my mouth as Caiden squints at the screen.

"He's nice and muscular," she says with a slight slur. "Even better than Sultan."

I don't bother asking who Sultan is. As the faces of the One tributes reappear, both of them smiling in the typical One way, I quickly look down. My locket suddenly feels heavy around my neck. I can see my parents standing in the background on stage, perhaps too old to get the spotlight that Augustus Braun is receiving.

I wonder what my parents are thinking right now, knowing that I've volunteered, which I vowed I would never do after my sister died in the Games. I suspect they will be too ashamed to alert someone of my identity, but the Capitol might take issue with me representing Ten. Do I have the protection of a tribute or not? Would they execute me if they discovered who I am.

"Let's get to bed, everyone!"

Caiden grumbles to herself as the escort ushers us to our rooms, not seeming fearful at all. I can feel my heartbeat increasing rapidly as I reach my bedroom, suddenly worried that even the escort will recognize me as the son of the Carroway victors. When the door closes behind me, I fall to the floor and feel the tears come without warning.

I can already tell that this won't be an easy endeavor. I know my training will come back quickly, but I'm still facing one of my biggest fears. I remember Maryann's death as she was torn apart by mutts.

I have nightmares all night.

 _Sparrow Lavaleé (12)- D7F_

"The two of you are so depressing," Johanna Mason drawls from over at the dining table, clinking her champagne glass against the polished wood. I give her a dirty look, but Raven simply sighs and sinks further into the sofa. His eyes are duller than usual, but when he sees me looking, he gives me a tired wink.

"Are we supposed to be jumping for joy?" he asks without looking away from me.

"Well, you're the one who volunteered," Johanna sneers. She staggers up from the table, knocking over a crystal flask and cursing. She mops up the spilled liquid with her sleeve. "You either have a death wish or want to prove yourself."

"I'm here for my sister," he says loudly, a spark of his old flame shining through. But his face is drawn and pale.

"You need rest," I tell him, interrupting Johanna's retort. "We should get to bed."

Raven grumbles as I help him to the bedrooms, Johanna watching after us with narrowed eyes. She's beautiful in a sort of effortless, tragic way, lolling over the table with a glass in her hand. Raven eyes her distrustfully as we disappear into the hallway.

The two of us have seperate rooms, but I can already tell that we won't be spending the night apart. I deposit Raven in his bed, as he groans and rolls over to stuff his face into the pillow.

"You're going to have to tell me what's going on soon," I murmur. "Even if you don't want to."

He mumbles an answer as I search somewhere for some suitable pajamas. The dressers are full of silk undershirts that probably don't provide any warmth or comfort at all. I throw them back in the drawer and find a cotton nightgown for me and a white t-shirt for Raven. "You need to put this on," I say, throwing it onto his body.

He coughs loudly, sounding like he's hacking up a lung, but he snakes a hand out to grab it. He pulls his Reaping shirt off and brings the new one over his head, groaning as he does so. "We need our sleep," he says, his voice hoarse. "The Capitol won't like if we look too tired." The words look like they taste bitter in his mouth.

"No offense, but you look pretty horrible as it is," I say. He gives me a half grin. I'm not lying- his eyes are faded green, his hair even brighter than usual compared to the pallor of his skin.

"I look horrible because I've been taking care of you," he says with a weak smile. I know he doesn't mean it in a serious way, but it's true. He's spent so much of his life looking after me, all because I killed my own mother and our father hates me.

"You shouldn't have volunteered," I say quietly, slipping into bed beside him. Despite the unknown environment and the cold shock of the sheets, his warm body next to mine is familiar and soothing. I rest my head on the pillow and turn towards him, remembering when I was a child and he would tell me funny stories after Pa scolded me for making his tea too hot or sewing the hole in his shirt unevenly.

"It's time for me to take care of you," I whisper.

His eyes flutter closed. "I'll never stop taking care of you, Sparrow."

As his breathing evens out beside me, I feel my panic start to crawl up my throat again, the sensation that only Raven's daring grin and loud mouth can get rid of. I grab the remote on the bedside table that switches the scene in the window. I flip through the settings, past the whistling fields of grain, a skyline of a city at night, and a gently rolling beach until I stop at a moonlit forest. The sounds of birds singing in the distance gently permeates the silence of the train.

 _Rylex Steele (17)- D12M_

The night isn't exactly restful- I spend my time tossing and turning in the bed, my head full of images of my brother Alden, his mouth frothing as he choked on his own blood, his killer standing triumphantly over him. I won't be like that. I can't be like that. I have to win, have to come back for my mother, for Alden's memory, and now for Siggo too. My heart clenches as I remember our kiss in the waiting room. Was that simply a spur of the moment thing, or had he been holding back this whole time? I just wish it had happened sooner.

The morning comes and I still feel as exhausted as the night before, if not moreso. The little lakefront that I chose as my window view is now lit with sunlight, the dappled reflections shining on the surface of the gently rolling water. I stare at it for a couple moments, wondering if the image is real, taken and planted here for my enjoyment, or entirely fabricated. My money's on the latter.

I dress simply in a blue silk shirt in my closet, by far the most expensive thing I've ever worn, and corduroy pants. I can only hope that the simple outfit will appease the Capitol. Though I'm not going to try to deceive them with a false angle or intimidate the other tributes, I know that my appearance is important. I won't be able to get sponsors if I don't take it seriously.

In the main compartment, Terra is already waiting with her head tilted back over the headrest of her chair. One eye cracks open as I slip inside the compartment and give her a smile. She does so back, then closes her eyes again. She seems nice enough, a good candidate for an alliance. She hasn't made any sort of move, though, so I'm not sure if she's interested.

"Breakfast is toast, oatmeal with sugar, oranges, and eggs," she says in a monotone voice. "Unfortunately, I'm going to have to complain that they don't have any waffles."

I snort and sit down beside her, scooping some oatmeal for myself. It's nothing like the tough tesserae oats that we eat in Twelve.

"Good morning, everyone!" Effie squeals as she drifts into the room.

Terra repeats her with an exaggerated Capitolite accent that makes me bite back a laugh, but Effie doesn't seem to notice.

"I'm very excited for the two of you to see the Capitol," she chatters on. "You're both very good-looking, you know. Blue eyes are so rare in Twelve, and both of you have them!"

"I'm sure the Capitol will be delighted," Terra drones sarcastically. I stifle a snort and stuff another bite of oatmeal into my mouth. The fruit that's mixed in is bright and sweet in my mouth.

"How does that happen?" Effie asks, sitting primly beside us. "It must be some kind of hidden gene from generations ago, huh?"

"Something was hidden from us generations ago," Terra mumbles under her breath, glancing at the glimmering glass cabinets full of priceless china.

"My mother says I got them from my father," I say with a soft smile. "But he died when I was a baby, so I don't remember him. We don't even have any pictures of him." My smile falters a little. I wonder if Effie gave my brother Alden the same talk when he was on the way to the Capitol, and if he told her the same thing. I decide not to ask her.

"How are the two of you feeling? Excited to see the Capitol? We'll be there in a few hours."

"Simply ecstatic," Terra says, imitating a Capitolite accent. Effie doesn't seem to notice, instead grinning garishly. I watch as Terra twists her napkin in her hands over and over again, apparently more nervous than she's letting on.

"I'm ready," I say confidently. "The Capitol will see that I'm strong and capable, and likable. That's what everyone else always tells me, at least."

"They're right!" Effie exclaims. "Just be yourselves, my little dears! The Capitol will love both of you, I can tell."

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

Looking at myself in the mirror, it's easy to see that I'm not the typical Career girl that the Capitol men will fantasize about, but I'm glad that I was born in Two instead of One or Four, where the girls are known for their beauty above all. Two at least as room for intellect and bloodlust, two things that I came prepared with. My darker, olive skin tone and black hair might be a slight disadvantage to my chances for sponsors, but once they see me rip someone's throat out, they'll be tearing at each other's for a chance to bet on me. And once I step out onto Caesar Flickerman's stage in that victor's crown, no one will be able to resist me.

I trace my fingers up the light scar on my forearm, a reminder of a lesson gone wrong in the Academy. We were using dull weapons, but my opponent's helmet was sharper than I expected it to be when we collided. Though it's kind of a dumb reason, I still like how it gives me an intimidating appearance. I remember how worried Adrienne had been when I had fallen to the ground with my arm bleeding, and smile softly at the memory.

"We'll be leaving soon!" I hear the escort's cheerful voice in the corridor, and hurry up with brushing my hair. I don't want to miss the first glimpse of the Capitol.

I know I'll make a good impression in my ruby red dress that will no doubt evoke images of me covered in my opponents' blood. I pin the silver broach Adrienne gave me to my chest and head out to the main compartment.

The notes Cyprian and I took last night on the other tributes are laying on the dining table, Cyprian himself standing above them and eating a bowl of energy cereal that the victors used to have us eat before examination days at the Academy.

"Preparing for a fight?" I ask him, pouring myself a glass of orange juice.

"Never too early to prepare," he simply says, flipping the page on the notes. We don't say anything more. I have a feeling that he and I will make a great team until the time comes to part in the arena. As long as he doesn't pull something like he did at the Reaping, when he volunteered before the escort asked, then we will get along fine.

He's thorough, something that I admire, but I'd rather prepare myself for our Capitol appearance than spend my time pouring over our notes just yet. I work better by getting to know people in person, anyway. I don't need any notes to know that our allies from One will be annoying as usual, and the ones from Four will be a little air-headed but still lethal. Anything else I can observe through getting to know them.

"Good morning," Celia says, her slender frame appearing in the doorway. She's wearing her signature baby blue, hair done up around her head in a way reminiscent of a crown. "You look well rested."

"When will we arrive?" I ask, trying not to seem too impatient. The train is full of extravagant, luxurious pastimes, but I'd rather be training for the Games. I'm ready to have a whip back in my hand.

"Soon," she says nonchalantly, sitting pristinely on an armchair. If there's anything I can admire about Celia aside from her obvious patriotism and work ethic, it's her no bullshit attitude.

Not that I can say the same for the other victor who walks into the compartment. At the sight of Cato, Cyprian suddenly straightens up, as if threatened by the other male presence.

"We should talk about our plan for the arena," he says in a deep voice. "We need to be prepared for every possible outcome."

"Yes, but maybe we should do that with our allies," I say. "Relax, Cyprian. You know everything there is to know about the Hunger Games. You'll be fine."

He doesn't look convinced, and for a second I see a flicker of doubt in his usually unwavering gaze.

"Let's just get through this stupid Parade," I say, watching with distaste as Cato mows through a platter of pastries.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

Neither of my compatriots look nearly as excited or well-rested as I am. Jabbock Darlson, famed victor of the 3rd Quarter Quell, looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, his face gaunt and sunken in like he hasn't slept in days. My district partner, Rai, on the other hand is obviously trying to overcompensate by seeming extraordinarily calm. Her platinum hair is tied up in a bun, her face done with pristine makeup. She's staring out the window like none of this is new to her, but her foot is tapping incessantly, giving her away.

I slick my black hair back in my reflection in the window, practicing my charming gaze and wave for the Capitolites. It's not like I have a particularly strong body or even a great face, and I'm not afraid to admit it. All I have is my mind and my charisma.

I glance over at Rai, who is now spinning a silver ring around her finger nervously. With a jolt of recognition, I realize I've seen it before. There's a similar one right on my own finger, a gift from my father from one of his rare visits to the Capitol on business trips.

"Where did you get that?" I ask her curiously. "Is that a Vatia ring?"

Rai looks up at me with tired blue eyes, then back down at her priceless ring. "Oh… I bought it at the jeweler's."  
"I thought you said you were an orphan," I say. She quickly looks away and doesn't speak anymore. Perhaps I should be concerned that my district partner is lying to me about something, but really I couldn't care less. She's not strong either, and doesn't seem to have any plan for the Games. When I make my alliance, I won't want any girls or weak, younger boys in it.

Jabbock doesn't seem to have heard anything we've said, staring blankly at the wall with a glass of clear liquid in hand. Whether its water or vodka, I couldn't care less. When he sees me looking, he gives me a squeamish smile. A pathetic excuse for a mentor.

"We're almost there!" our escort squeals as she skitters into the room. "Everyone get ready!"

Outside the window, a plain gray tunnel blocks our vision, but I'm already smiling with vigor. I want the Capitol's first impression of me to be a charismatic, attractive man who is awed by his fans. When the actual city appears, lit beautifully by the morning sun, skyscrapers glittering, I feel my jaw drop a little. Perhaps I was preparing too soon.

A brilliant dam, larger than any of the water plants back in Five, keeps the water away from the city as we approach via the railway. As the train station approaches, I can make out the unmistakable sight of the Training Center, the tallest building in the city that I've seen countless times on the television.

Suddenly the train has bulleted into the station, a lively crowd of colorful Capitolites waving to us enthusiastically. I can hear their clamor through the glass as they try to reach us past the guards who are keeping them at bay. I wave back with just as much fervor, but keep my composure and stand completely still in the window, giving them a friendly smile

To my side, I realize Rai is standing now as well, waving and smiling demurely. She even giggles a bit as if flustered by all the attention. It's a perfectly practiced sound, something I can recognize from my own experiences. Perhaps I underestimated her, but nevertheless, I know she won't make a useful ally. I'll just keep a careful eye on her, as I will everyone.

"So many admirers!" the escort remarks excitedly. "If you're the talk of the town now, wait until after the Parade!"

"I can't wait!" I reply enthusiastically. It's not a lie- whatever the stylists have prepared for us, I'm ready for it. Any attention is good attention.

 _Tag Nylon (13)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games_

I can't say I'm glad to be back in the Capitol. The sights of the golden city aren't nearly as impressive as the first time I arrived here on the train. I remember Sock's fierceness, her determination to impress the Capitol by whatever means necessary, and smile a little.

The tributes are perhaps better than what I expected, but I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting. Thimble seems a little underfed and terribly quiet and frightened, but I suspect he will be resilient due to whatever hardships he's obviously faced in life. As for the girl, Flux, she seems tough enough, but young and loud-mouthed. Still, despite myself, my brain is already coming up with plans for sponsorship pitches, what angles to take for the interviews, what areas they will need the most training in. I want them to survive. The thought that only one of them can, and neither of them might, is already weighing on me.

After our stop at the station, Peacekeepers lead us from the train and into the Prep Center to meet the stylists. I've already been informed that it's the same team that put Sock and I into those terrible mismatched outfits last year, and I'm not enthused. I keep my head low as we walk to our station, where the prep team is waiting. I leave the tributes with the escort while I wander around elsewhere, looking for somewhere to sit and rest for awhile until the mentors are herded together to the stands to watch the parade. Our reactions will surely be broadcast to the nation, and I need to practice my smile a bit before I can pretend to care what the sacrificial victims are dressed in.

I find an empty bench in the back of the Prep Center, where the Avoxes likely take a rest if they have nothing else to do. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I didn't sleep well last night, my dreams full of images of Seb's face, covered in blood, running thick with black veins full of venom. The black demon that watched over us in the arena also made an appearance.

Though I know it sounds crazy… sometimes I still wonder if that creature is following me around, waiting for the right moment to strike.

There's a loud clatter to my left, and I jump out of my seat, heart beating fast. It's just an Avox, dressed in the usual bright red, quickly retrieving his platter of nail clippers and lotions from the floor.

"You scared me," I say. Though they can't reply, I still like to talk to the Avoxes. So many in the Capitol simply ignore them.

The Avox looks up, his eyes filled with terror, and I immediately freeze. I know that face; I laughed alongside it and devised mischievous plans with it for years. It's Hessian, my old friend from the Sock Knights who was taken by the Peacekeepers the night of my return to Eight.

"Hessian!" I gasp, and he shakes his head rapidly as if afraid someone will hear. "Everyone thought you were dead!" I exclaim, drawing closer to him. He jolts back and power-walks away, looking back once with fear clear in his eyes.

My momentary joy in discovering him alive is replaced with horror and disgust. The Capitol didn't kill my friend to teach me a lesson, they simply stole him away and placed him here to torment me. The message is clear- pull something like that stunt with Spool again, and everyone I know will be forced here to the Capitol to serve cruel masters hand and foot for the rest of their lives, a mockery of my victory. I may be a victor, but I am still a servant to the Capitol.

I may be free of the arena, but I'll never be free of the Capitol.

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 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Let me know your thoughts/reactions in a review. Until next time!**


	16. Tribute Parade

**Hey everyone! I hope you all had a good week and a half :P. We've finally arrived to the Capitol! I hope you enjoy your stay xD**

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 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

The stylists are fluttering around me like a murder of colorful crows looking for a place to dig into their meal, but my attention is elsewhere. All around us, the Remake Center is alive with activity- people coming to and fro in their ridiculous Capitol costumes, their skin dyed wild colors and their hair sticking out in spikes or exotic curls. But I'm more interested in the other tributes, who I've caught a few glimpses of before my prep team shut me away in our room.

"Oh, you just have perfect skin," one of the team members says dreamily, stroking her fingers over my arm that is now free of hair. "And blond with blue eyes, a double kill."

"You're going to make such a stir here," another purrs, plucking at my eyebrows. I wince as another hair is pulled free. "The girls won't be able to resist you."

"I have a girlfriend," I say uselessly as they spin me around, looking for more imperfections to hide.

"They will love that even more," another says, his teeth glittering silver in the overhead light. "Everyone loves a good romance. Is she pretty?"  
Natalie is extremely pretty, but I keep my mouth shut. I have a feeling these people would only treat her as yet another piece of meat to faun over and sink their teeth into.

"Wait until you see what the stylist has planned for you," one of the preppers says cheerfully. "Classic, yet chic."

It turns out the costume is definitely a classic- a tasteless mechanic outfit that looks nothing like the one my father wears in his garage in Six. It's far too tight-fitting and doesn't have any pockets for tools, practically useless. But I have a feeling these people couldn't care less about utility, going by their dyed eyebrows and faces implanted with gemstones. After I slip into the outfit, the stylist gently arranges my hair in a fairly simple, yet still memorable coiffure over my head. It's a style I've seen many times on male Careers and other strong tributes. It's easy to tell that they're going for the physical strength angle. As long as they don't try to make me into some silent killer, I'm fine with that.

When I meet up with Pagani outside of our rooms, she's very clearly disgruntled with the outfit, tugging on it with a disgusted expression. "They might as well dress us in a grey sheet," she grumbles to me, giving our stylists the side-eye as they chat together amicably. I grunt in amusement, not at all regretting my choice of ally. But as my eyes scan the Remake Center as the other tributes slowly emerge from their rooms, I know that we can't be the only people in our alliance if we want the best chance of survival. Careers are out of course, but other strong tributes are all an option. I'm used to being a leader, after all, and I plan to put my talents to good use in the Games.

"They're doing the best they can," I say, trying to pacify not only her but also myself. There's no need to start getting worked up about the Capitolites when we need to be saving it for the arena.

"I suppose they don't have a lot to work with on me," Pagani huffs, flipping one of her brown braids that frame her face. She doesn't sound self-deprecating, if anything merely amused by the prep teams desperate attempts to make her look more attractive. Her makeup is clearly trying to hide the structure of her square jaw, rather unsuccessfully. But what they won't ever be able to hide is the tired look in her eyes, the sunkeness of her cheeks from years of malnutrition.

"It doesn't matter how we look today," I remind her. "We need to focus on our training, that's all."

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

My Reaping outfit is hardly the worst, and for once i'm grateful to the Capitol for seeing me as a small child rather than an adult that they can dress in a revealing outfit. My olive green dress brings out the same green color in my eyes, and goes nicely with my dark skin tone. My brown hair is braided in two large braids over each shoulder, a cornucopia of flowers given to me to hold in my arms as we are led down the Avenue of the Tributes. As I look down at the small woven basket, I can tell that it was shaped to purposely evoke images of the shimmering golden Cornucopia in the arenas, where I will be forced to fight for my life.

I glance over at Thorn. He's in a very similar outfit, an olive green pair of pants and a matching flowy orange shirt. He actually looks quite handsome with his hair slicked back instead of in its usual curls, dark eyes scanning the rest of the Remake Center.

A few feet to either side of us, horses are neighing with excitement and possibly fear. I resist the urge to go over and comfort them, not wanting to show weakness in front of the others, especially Thorn. I have a feeling I should stay as far away from him as possible.

"Hello, you two!" the escort appears, grinning from ear to ear. Seeder stands behind her, staring blankly into the distance. I feel indignation start to rise inside me, but I remind myself there's no point in getting angry that our mentor doesn't want to mentor us. I'm used to taking care of myself, and that's what I'll do.

Thorn grumbles a reply, looking severely unhappy with the situation. "What do you think of these outfits?" he asks, sounding almost genuinely curious, but I brace myself for the awkwardness that will follow. Why can't he just leave things alone?

"I think you look so classic!" the escort chirps, though she too looks hesitant to give him any information. "What do you think?"

"If they were going for a giant dead wasp," he says coldly. Wasps are common in Eleven due to the abundance of fruit left around to rot, and seeing dead and dying ones isn't uncommon. But Thorn doesn't look nervous at all. If anything, he seems delighted by the fact. "Maybe they're trying to send a message about us."

"Will you stop that!"

Both of us turn to see Seeder fuming at him, forehead lined hard with anger. Her eyes bore into him, mouth set.

"Shut up with the jokes and the taunts, and just smile for the cameras, Thorn," she warns him with gritted teeth. She gives him one last glare before turning and walking back into the prep rooms, apparently unable to be with us anymore.

I glance at Thorn. He's just as taken aback as me, his eyes wide and little shocked. He quickly brushes it off though, giving me an apathetic grin when he notices me looking.

"Whatever. It's not like she's the one who's going to die."

"You shouldn't bait people into getting angry with you," I admonish him, perhaps my elder sister instincts kicking in.

"I'm not baiting anyone," he says coolly with a sniff. "I'm just saying it as it is. You're the one who's afraid of death."

"Being afraid is only natural," I say, but as I watch the pair from Four strut past in their glittering outfits, covered from head to toe in seashells with smirks on their faces and arrogance in their walk, I can't help but wonder if I'm wrong. These people certainly don't seem afraid to die, or even worried at all.

"Death is what's natural," Thorn says with a loud sigh that turns heads towards us. I have a feeling he likes the attention. "You'll see when we're in the arena."

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

My mask of silence is proving itself to be even more useful in the Capitol than in Two. My prep team had absolutely loved my brooding, stoic front and had fawned over me despite my menacing frown.

"There's no doubt you'll be a fan favorite," one of them had said in awe as she swooned over my biceps.

It's nice to know that all of my practice on my dark, angry persona has paid off, but my mind is still plagued with doubts. I've been vibrating slightly with fear since we arrived to the Remake Center, but hopefully everyone else perceives it as excitement or anger. I cross my arms over my suit, which is encrusted with rubies and gold. The blood-red cape that trails after Leto and I are reminiscent of many of the gladiatorial costumes that tributes from Two wear during the Parade.

"You two are lucky you have a stand-out costume this year," Celia tells us with a tight smile. "And you look great."

She's not wrong- Leto looks cold, dangerous, but regal in her ruby-covered pantsuit, her dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that brings out the sharpness of her cheekbones. She looks like a victor already.

"I don't care much for fashion," she says dryly, looking down at the gold bracelets adorning her wrists. "But I suppose you're right."

"Me too," I grunt in my deep voice. "I'm tired of all of this performance crap. When will we get to train?"

"Soon, for god's sake," Cato appears from behind the chariot, where the pristinely groomed horses are whinnying with impatience. "I'm glad you're eager to get started, but enjoy yourself while you can." As if to emphasize his point, he takes a long swig from his glass of wine and sighs with pleasure.

"Just make sure to wave," Celia says, rolling her eyes and leaving without another word. Cato trails behind her.

Leto and I stand in silence for a few moments beside our carriage, content to wait for instruction to board the chariot. But then she suddenly says, "Maybe we should talk to the others."

There's only one "others" that she can be talking about- the Careers from One and Four, who are currently chatting with their respective district partner beside their own chariots. All of them are clearly strong and well-trained, their own costumes just as polished and glamorous. I feel my palms start to sweat as I realize that Leto, too, is a viable competitor in the Games. Ho can I win against such strong, disciplined tributes? I may have been chosen by the Academy at Two to volunteer this year, but I'm still not convinced it wasn't a fluke in the voting system of the trainers. Garrison said he scored me low on purpose to make me work harder, but what if he was only lying to make me feel better?

"Are you okay, Cyprian?"

I look over at Leto, one plucked eyebrow raised, and I realize I've been spiraling and forgetting about the real world. "Yes, sorry. Just bored with all this."

"Me too." She's bought it. "But we should still try to say hello, at least so they know we're proactive."

She's right, and I follow her on her way over to the pair from One. The girl's bright green eyes flit over to us as we approach, and the boy comes to stand in front of her almost protectively, his face impassive .

"Hello," he says. "My name's Callum."

I eye Callum's larger frame and muscular arms the same way the stylists did to me earlier. I have no doubt that he will be a powerful ally and eventual opponent. The girl pokes her head around him, smacking him on the shoulder to get him to move. He does so without even blinking, continuing to stare at Leto and I.

"And I'm Passion Mavros," she says, her voice sounding like smooth velvet and rotten fruit. Her costume is so pitch black it seems to disappear in the light- that is, until I realize it's her own body that's covered in glittering black power with diamonds and other precious stones inlaid on her skin. Her black hair wraps around her head like a crown, pale face standing out all the more with the contrast.

"Leto." My district partner extends her hand. Her nose is wrinkled slightly, possibly not approving of the costume, or maybe her attitude.

Passion pouts and doesn't reciprocate. "You don't know who I am?"

"Passion Mavros?" Leto asks in confusion.

"Yes!" Passion exclaims, rolling her eyes. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

When neither or us answer, she groans and throws her arms up dramatically. "Explain it to them, Callum."

"Passion is the daughter of Parker Mavros, founder and owner of Mavros Incorporated, a producer and seller of black luxury items and clothing," Callum recites dutifully. His costume is much more modest than his partner's- a simple white suit with black accents and precious stones. "Mavros products are among the most sought after in the Capitol."

"Well, we don't live in the Capitol," I say before I can stop myself.

Passion huffs and stalks away, Callum trailing after her awkwardly.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Leto says.

I nervously watch them as they go, everyone staring at Passion as she passes, completely nude, beside them. I can only hope that I didn't offend them too much- they are still trained Careers after all. We need them in our alliance.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

I'm used to being paraded around like a trophy instead of a human, but this is on an entirely different level. For one, instead of wearing a simple robe or nothing at all, I'm dressed in an ugly patchwork suit of different materials, apparently supposed to evoke District' Eight industry of textiles, but by far the worst representation of us that I've ever seen. I can imagine someone from the factories getting their hands on this horrific piece of material and wincing as they take in the design and shoddy workmanship.

As I run my hand down my front, recoiling at the feeling of so many different kinds of rough fabric that my finger touch, I glance around the Remake Center with a trained gaze, watching out for anyone who might be a threat to Flux and I.

Speaking of, Flux is reclining casually against the chariot, inspecting her painted nails as we wait for the signal to climb inside. The stylists have given her some brighter colors in her costume to make her darker skin pop, but she still looks as ridiculous as me. But she doesn't seem at all concerned about this, instead sighing in impatience as the horses whinny with the same sentiment.

"Can't we just get this over with?" she complains with an eye-roll. "I'm ready for bed already."

"Me too," I say, but I feel wide awake, my body practically trembling with nerves. I might be used to being paraded around, but not in front of the entire nation. "How are we expected to wave and smile for this when these people are celebrating our deaths?"

"Oh, you better wave and smile," she says, suddenly serious. "I know you don't smile a lot, but we need these sponsors, Thimble."

She's right. I nod to appease her and turn away, back to observing the others. As we finish speaking, the pair from One flies right past us, the girl dressed in nothing but glittery black paint. Flux bursts into laughter, but I feel myself stiffen up. These people are trained killers, after all.

"Where the hell are they going?" she asks with amusement. "We're not allowed to leave."

The guards make this very apparent to the pair, and the girl throws a tantrum as they are forced back into the main area of the Remake Center. Careers might be more skilled than us, but their arrogance certainly won't be a benefit in the arena, I realize with satisfaction. Most of them are probably used to getting whatever they want whenever they want it. On the other hand, I've lived on the streets, lived without food or a bed or security for months on end, endured countless and unspeakable horrors at the Red.

"They only know about getting their way," I tell Flux. "I have a feeling that won't exactly bode well for them."

"You talk so fancy," Flux says, and I wrinkle my nose in offense before I realize she wasn't being critical. Before I can explain that my mother was a teacher, she continues, "But you're right. Not to mention we have Tag Nylon as our mentor. Youngest victor in history. Hell, we're both older than him."

"He doesn't seem too keen to mentor us," I say darkly. On the train ride here, Tag had done nothing but avoid us, staying in his own carriage and smiling nervously at us whenever we made eye contact at meals. "I gather he doesn't want anything to do with us."

"We'll see about that after we make a grand entrance in the Parade," Flux says, her carefree attitude hard to resist. I feel myself smiling, my hard facade breaking for just a second.

"Damn right."

 _Caiden Clawford (D10F)_

The call finally comes for us to board our chariots. Not a moment too early, either, as my costume is starting to feel a little too hot underneath all of the bright lights in the Remake Center. But despite the discomfort, I can't say that i'm completely upset with my stylists- the outfit is perfectly me. A dark androgynous take on the typical rancher outfit for tributes from Ten- all black with some accents of white and a lasso tied around me as if to keep the clothes together.

"I wish they had given us something worse," Jeremy says as we climb into the chariot.

"What do you mean?" I ask. We haven't spoken a lot in our time on the train, instead staying holed up in our respective rooms.

He looks up at me, his piercing green eyes staring into mine. He looks conflicted, somewhere between anxiety and confidence. "If we aren't memorable in any way, we'll fall by the wayside. We need attention from the sponsors."

"Oh, I'll get the attention I want," I say matter-of-factly, rolling my shoulders and feeling the bejeweled earrings the stylists gave me knock against my neck. "Just focus on yourself, townie."

He looks a little hurt, but as he turns away I can see his eyes reharden and feel him take in a deep breath beside me. His eyes are trained ahead of us, at the Nine chariot. The pair are standing awkwardly beside each other, just as we are, their gnarled costumes poking each other as they try to move around, so deformed I can't even tell what they're supposed to be. God, I can't wait to be done with all of this showmanship. Who cares how I dress or what I have to say to these murderers? Once they see me fight in the arena, that's when they'll know I'm a force to be reckoned with.

Outside the Remake Center, I can hear the voice of Claudius Templesmith echoing off the buildings. The words are indecipherable, but I can imagine what he's saying from past Parades- predictions for the district outfits, jokes about attractive tributes, how to sponsor a tribute and the gratitude of Panem for participating in the country's largest pageant.

It's all just a sick joke.

The whistle blares, and the doors open for the first chariot to be rolled out onto the Avenue. I can now clearly hear the crowd screaming their support for the pair from One, and the remarks from the commentators about the costumes.

"Clearly Passion Mavros has no problem baring her true self to the audience," Claudius says, sounding impressed. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of her. Although I'm not sure how much more there is to see."

I snort to myself. The horses tethered to our carriage whinny and toss their heads, impatient as I am to get on with it. I sigh in frustration, the differences that the Capitol has exacted on me already starting to make me uncomfortable. Instead of leaving my bushy eyebrows alone, like I've always done, they stylists trimmed them and shaped them into a strange unnatural arch that makes me look even more angry. The absence of the hairs tickling my forehead is something I've never experienced before.

At least I don't have a cowboy hat, I think to myself as I glance at Jeremy. Apparently the stylists wanted to show my buzz cut rather than hide it under a giant ridiculous hat like he's wearing. And they didn't give me too much makeup either, like some of these girls.

The chariot for District Two pulls forward now, the audience renewing their screams and chants of their name. Their ruby red costumes glitter in the sunlight, and claudius comments on their stony faces and confident stances.

"Make sure to wave," Jeremy says, then stops abruptly. As usual whenever he says anything to me, he looks like he regrets it, like he's made some kind of mistake in speaking to me.

"I can take care of myself," I snarl. I'm already tired of this kid acting like he knows better than me, or like he's torn between wanting to help me or not. I can see through his act well- he's afraid for his life. I guess living a cushy life as a butcher's son will do that to you.

 _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_

As the commentator announces that the District Three chariot is about to disembark, I feel my heart start to pound faster than it ever has, even at the Reaping. The entire nation will be watching us right now, the Capitol from their stands and the districts from their homes, everyone crowded on couches, floors, or Town Squares to see this year's crop of tributes.

I swallow heavily, glancing at Caillou for a moment. She seems a little out of it, her eyes unfocused, her hands clasped together in front of her. Combined with the costume, she looks like she could be braindead. Her large mass of curly hair is standing completely on end, framing her face and almost poking mine. My own hair has received a similar treatment, but without quite the same effect. Our outfits are gray suits with yellow lighting wrapped around it, making us look like we are conductors of electricity ourselves, ready to shock anyone who dares to touch us. I feel my palms start to sweat and try to wipe them on the gray bodysuit, but the material is slick itself and only spreads the sweat further over my skin.

"Let's welcome District Three to the Parade!"

The crowd goes absolutely wild as the horses start to move, seemingly of their own accord, out into the blinding lights of the Avenue of the Tributes. My breath is instantly knocked out as the roars of the raving crowd hit me immediately. The Avenue is huge, and so are the stands of people on either side. I feel like i'm in a dream sequence as the horses pull our chariot smoothly along the path, admirers showering us with praise and gifts. I hear a few people commend Caillou's beauty as they throw down flowers and even candy, and I receive quite a few flowers on my side as well. The attention reminds of my my sole objective for this Parade- to wave and look stoic but capable. I raise my hand to give the audience the recognition they desire, even making eye contact with a few spectators that are close to the edge of the stands.

Chants of _Dylan! Caillou!_ resound through the street. I have to repress a dazed smile. I didn't realize just how excited people would be to see us. Who would have thought we would have supporters already?

I suspect our costumes might have something to do with it, especially when Claudius' voice booms over the sea of people again, commenting that our presence is "electrifying". Perhaps I shouldn't have judged the kids in school who focused so much on their appearance.

"And now for District Four!"

As usual, the applause for the last Career district is deafening, easily drowning out our own. Their bodies covered in glittery seashells, they look confident and gorgeous and capable enough to take off my head. I swallow hard, but keep on waving.

I glance at Caillou to see that she's waving enthusiastically at the crowd now, an easy smile on her face. She winks to a few spectators that call her name and they erupt into shrieks. I didn't even realize she could smile- she's been practically silent and expressionless since the Reaping. But here she is, blowing kisses to her adoring fans. She looks completely at ease.

Maybe I should step up my game. I don't want her to outshine me, and she's already doing so with the hair. But I don't want to betray my tough, intelligent persona for a few second of spotlight, so I keep on my neutral, "I'm too good to be here," expression going, waving serenely to the crowd.

District Five follows, to far behind for me to get a glimpse of their costume. As Caillou and I are dragged down the Avenue, the spectators scream and yell for us and throw down objects of their affection. Though Claudius has moved onto talking about the other chariots as they continue to be released, now Six, now Seven, the crowd has eyes only for what's right in front of them.

As District Eight is announced, I feel sweat start to drip down my back. The chariot is only halfway across the Avenue, The Training Center looming ahead of us as if watching over the festivities. I force myself to keep waving, not showing any sign of fatigue. I'll have to deal with worse exhaustion in the arena.

 _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F_

The screams of my name as the chariot slowly makes its way down the Avenue are as disorienting as they are surprising. I didn't expect to have admirers already, and yet Volt and I are being showered with gifts and praise, girls shrieking about Volt's dark hair fluffed into the typical Capitol style, his easy smirk as he waves to the crowd. I find myself grinning as I wave to my side, hearing chants of my name grow as I smile more. I wink and blow a kiss to a guy who throws me a red rose, just before the wheels of the chariot crush it, the petals turned to mush.

I know that I'm attractive, even to the Capitolite standard, but I always thought my clients were more interested in me simply because of the novelty of having a district girl in their bed. But now I realize I might actually have some kind of advantage due to my looks, not to mention the charisma I've practiced over the years.

My costume might be helping too- Volt and I got lucky to have some down-to-earth stylists. The two of us are made to look like solar panels, the kind that litter District Five in every nook and cranny, the bouncing beams of sunlight that I was named for. Our bodysuits are a little clunky, made to look like the panels themselves, but the skin of our arms, neck, and a little bit of our face are painted to look like rays of sunlight exuding from our interiors. I make sure to put on a blinding smile to fulfill the picture, happy that my platinum colored hair matches the concept, illuminated in the overhead lights of the Parade.

Then, as the chariots drudge along, I have another realization- I'm the only tribute here who has ever been in the Capitol before. The silhouette of the Training Center is familiar to me, visible from practically every hotel room and luxury villa that I've ever stayed in during my excursions. I've been inside various boutiques around town with my patrons, had their food, faked their accent, watched the Games with them and laughed and cried along as their favorite tributes were decapitated or emerged victorious from another battle. I've been one with them for short periods of time before returning to my true home in Five. I know how they think, and I know how to gain their affections. I've prepared for something like this my entire life.

I wave enthusiastically, giggling with faked wonder of the beauty of the Capitol, even mouthing _thank you_ to some of my supporters, hoping the cameras pick up on it. Then, chariot passing so quickly I could have missed it, I see a familiar face. It's Sinclair, dressed in his usual inconspicuous but expensive suit, stern frown and furrowed brows with a hardset mouth. He's staring right at me, and I gulp at the sight of my pimp, the man to whom I owe all of the opportunities I've been granted, though I would never tell him that.

He flies by in a split second, and I quickly smile again, waving with perhaps too much excitement to make up for my misstep. I try to push any thought of Sinclair out of my mind, but Ciera's words in our goodbye ring in my ears, _You have leverage. No one can touch you now, but he's still vulnerable. Make sure he knows that_.

Volt is still charming the crowd beside me, chest puffed and good-natured but still charismatic glint in his eye. Now isn't the time to think about Sinclair. If he wants to contact me, he will. He must know that I have the power to reveal his business and make him an Avox for life, and that must weigh on him. But if I don't hear from him, then I will do whatever I have to do to survive.

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

The Tribute Parade is going better than I ever could have hoped, aside from the other tributes not knowing my identity. But Callum had said something to me before the chariot left the Remake Center- about how the other tributes can't be expected to know about real fashion or celebrities. After all, District One was named as such for a reason. All the others come behind us in relevancy. But these Capitolites… they understand me and who I am. As I wave to the adoring crowd, grinning brightly as my long flowy black hair flows behind me, the cameras fixed on me as my chariot is pulled down the Avenue.

Several flowers and other gifts are tossed from the stands, landing right before me or inside the chariot. This is better than I ever could have imagined… all of the nation's eyes on me in all of my glory, ready to rip out some throats. Of course, it would be better if there wasn't another body beside me, and others behind us in their own chariots.,, but everything will be that way after I emerge victorious from the arena, covered in the blood of my enemies and paraded through the entire country. I can already taste victory in my mouth as I smirk to the crowd, winking suggestively at some of them. I wasn't joking when I told Augustus that my birthday suit is my favorite outfit, and I have a feeling the Capitol loves it as well.

Claudius Templesmith is droning on about the outer district chariots, as if anyone cares about what they're wearing. Ugly outfits for ugly districts that don't even have the drive to train for the Games.

"Passion! Passion! Passion!"

The chants of my name only spur me on further, taking to twirling my hair on my fingers and blowing kisses to anyone that i can make eye contact with. I'm surprised to hear shouts of Callum's name as well, and I feel a flare of envy. But I suppose this is to be expected… he's a Career as well, and he looks vaguely handsome in his white luxury suit. But I can't let him get too cocky about his position- he needs to remember that he's here to serve me.

I elbow him in the side and he turns to me with a mellow expression. Maybe under his unassuming mask, there is a flicker of nervousness or embarrassment, but he looks like the same Callum that I've grown up with.

"You're taking up too much space," I say haughtily, pleased when he dociely moves aside to give me more room in the chariot. I go right back to smiling and waving like nothing happened, hoping that the cameras picked up just how much control I have over him. They should know that I already have my own lackey before going into the arena.

Out of the corner of my eye, and I can see Callum waving slowly in a calculated way, wide-eyed as he takes in the scene of the Capitol. Truthfully, I can't believe we're finally here either. All those years of waiting, and here I am, headed to the Training Center where I'll live in extravagant excellency until the Games begin, and where I'll spend my subsequent years training tributes from One to carry on my legacy. It's the dream I've always wanted.

Now I just have to make the others give it to me.

 _Raven Lavalleé (17)- D7M_

Sparrow and I trail in the Parade after the pair from Six, who are dressed in horrid gray mechanic outfits and wave somewhat stiffly at the crowd. The boy is still grinning charismatically at the roaring audience, but the girl seems to have grown tired under the heat of the lights and the pressure of the noise bouncing off of the cavernous street, only weakling making an attempt to engage them.

I can't say I blame her. My body is starting to ache from standing so long, and I grasp the side of the golden chariot to keep myself upright. At least this particular nightmare is almost over, and then we'll get to sleep again in cushy beds with soft pillows. I already feel my knees grow weaker at the thought, but I force myself to stay standing and waving amicably at the crowd. I need to project the image of a relatable, attractive young man. I already have several young girls chanting my name in the stands, their gifts flying towards me but rarely reaching the chariot.

This costume must be doing something for them, but in all honesty seems like one of the most tasteless things the Seven tributes have worn in years. Even the generic trees from last year were better than this- simply layers upon layers of leaves covering our bodies. When the stylist first pitched the costume to me, I almost strangled him, thinking that he was going to dress Sparrow in a light covering of leaves that left only a few things to the imagination. If it was just me, then I wouldn't have cared… but somehow this looks even worse. We're practically drowning in the fake, itchy leaves that smell of plastic.

A small box of chocolates is tossed at me, and I snort good-naturedly as it lands on the ground just before being crushed by the wheels of the chariot. I hear the proximate crowd laugh along with me, apparently finding my own amusement amusing.

On my other side, Sparrow smiles uneasily and waves at the crowd, her arms barely long enough to reach over the edge of the golden vehicle. Regardless, she too is receiving gifts and many shouts and cooes of her name. I bristle at the thought of someone else thinking that she is a cute little girl while also rooting for her death, but I swallow it down and reach for her hand with my free one.

She glances over at me questioningly, but grasps it without complaint and goes back to waving.

I wonder if Pa is watching from home right now, a happy family without him.

I suddenly feel the urge to cough, but I swallow it down the best I can, trying to keep my face cheerful. I know that if I cough now, I will cough up blood on the Avenue, and stain the street with the blood of the tributes already. Perhaps a memorable entrance, but not the one I'm hoping for.

Sparrow's hand holding me steady, I keep my eyes focused on the faces of the people as we pass them, the sounds of their clamoring and the panem anthem played on trumpets as the Parade nears its close. I look up and am abruptly reminded of how close we are to the famed Training Center and the Presidential mansion, their length towering over us ominously. I take in a deep, unsteady breath, trying to blink away my weakness. I can sense Sparrow giving me concerned glances, her hand squeezing mine in reassurance. I have to stay strong for her- things will be much worse in the games, and I have to protect her and much as possible.

Our chariot slows to a stop in its respective place in the semi-circle around the president's balcony at his mansion. The screens around the Avenue project various faces of the tributes, stopping at the two of us a couple of times, interspersing it with shots of the victors watching on from their box seats. The camera focuses on Johanna Mason for a split second, a drink in hand and eyes fixed on the procession of tributes. She was a great tribute after all, and a great strategist. Maybe being her mentees won't be so bad after all.

 _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_

"Citizens of Panem, our brave and noble people who each have something vital to provide for our common good," the President begins, his voice soft but clearly heard in the large street. "We gather for another year of our greatest and best pagent."

I start to wince and even laugh, but stop myself when I realize where I am. Not in the safety of my own home with Dornan, ironically one of the only times of year we spent a lot of time together, but actually in the City Circle in front of the President of Panem himself. How did all this happen in just two days?

Not that Rylex and my ugly coal-miner outfits will draw any attention to us. It's pretty easy to see that the Careers stole the show as usual, followed by the Fives and the Nines, who also somehow lucked out on a distinct and original costume. As if someone hasn't thought of sexy miners before. But I guess when the Twelve stylists get their hands on two older tributes, they can't think of anything else. Maybe I should be flattered.

I glance around the semi-circle as the President continues his speech, not exactly interested even if the novelty of actually being in his presence is enough to keep me from making any snide remarks to Rylex.

Rylex seems nice enough after all, tall and strong and will make for a good ally. That is, if he's realized by now that that's what this is. And there can't be any harm in adding more allies to our coalition, and now is the best time to figure out who would be good prospects. Of course, nothing is certain until we see them in training, but some of the outer district people look strong and determined, especially the ones from Six, Five, and Ten. There's no way that we aren't getting that bulky guy from Ten on our team, no matter how stupid his costume.

I glance back at Rylex, who is staring at the President with a bit of a shell-shocked expression. Perhaps it's all becoming too real for him. I sigh in boredom and stare at the screen that is showing our reactions, smiling a little when my own face comes up for a split second. Maybe I should try to seem more respectful of the Hunger Games and President Snow, but what are they going to do to me? Kill me?

I feel Rylex elbow me and I stumble a little, grumbling as I return my attention to Snow.

"What are you doing?" he hisses. "Trying to get in the tabloids?"

"We're going to be there already, blue-eyed boy," I tell him.

He rolls those blue eyes at me. "Don't call me that." He sounds genuinely frustrated. I sigh and succumb to his wishes, silently watching the speech with my hands clasped in front of me, wishing all of this to be finally over so I can go to bed.

Maybe Rylex and I shouldn't have revealed anything to each other about our lives, like his father having blue eyes and his brother dying in the Games, even though some of it would come out nonetheless in interview with Flickerman. It will be harder to see him die now, especially since I've had to deal with blue eye comments my whole life as well, people wondering if I was somehow foreign or otherwise not of Twelve genes.

"Let the Hunger Games commence!"

The crowd cheers with fury and excitement, making me jump from the sheer volume. The crowd sends us off with large flourishes of pieces of colored cloth and desperate waves, as the chariots start to depart from the Avenue, making our way to the training Center. It seems the Games have truly begun.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

I thought that the Parade would be trying ordeal, and I would have to fake a smile the entire time like I usually do at home, but I was pleasantly surprised. I've always known that I liked positive attention, but having an entire city scream your name and praise your beauty is on another level of joy. I now feel exhausted, but in a good way, like I just got finished with a run around Four, on the sandy beaches where it's hard to get traction. Or that I just fought a mock battle and ended up on top, the only survivor. It feels like it too- sweat has beaded on my forehead from the lights and the adrenaline. Faroud beside me is in a similar state, the makeup they applied lightly to his face to disguise any blemishes has run down into his beard. But he's grinning triumphantly, staring behind us with delight as the Avenue grows farther away and quieter and we're led to the Training Center

"That was amazing!" I say, not having to exaggerate anything. I flip my hair out of my face, pleased that the stylists managed to give us something actually fashionable to wear. The glittering seashell outfits were stunning, catching ever light that was shined on us from above and illuminating our brilliant smiles. My coral diadem is practically stuck to my hair, not even coming off when I try to pull it, feeling a slight flare of anger in my chest before I push it back down. I want to revel in this nice happy feeling for a while longer.

"You can say that again," Faroud agrees in a low voice. I follow where his eyes are focused and see he's watching the girl from One, whose bare body is displayed for everyone to see.

I scoff. "You're shameless." But I eye her with envy, wishing I had the confidence to come out in front of the entire nation covered in nothing but black dust and gemstones. Of course, the stylists avoided any censorship by place gems around her nipples and lower area to conceal them slightly, but I know she will make the news regardless as the beauty of the 78th Hunger Games. _That's supposed to be my title._

"What's the point in shame?" Faroud says with a smirk, watching as Callum helps Passion out of the chariot her green eyes scanning the sea of tributes, stylists, and mentors.

I growl under my breath and step out on my own, my clear blue heels clicking against the floor. "Pig."

"Don't blame me for being human," he says. I huff and take off my shoes, which are starting to make my feet bleed. The pair from One are led away by Augustus Braun, who has the broad shoulders and perfectly coiffed blonde hair of a real gentlemen.

I miss home, my boyfriend Reggie and his goofy grins, even if he got on my nerves at times. And my best friend Gaia, the only person who can understand me. I can feel my desire for destruction tugging at my consciousness, floating somewhere on the outside of my brain but still there, trying to poke its way in. I shake my head, hoping I don't seem too crazy to Faroud, and try to remember the feeling of the crowd shouting my name. They know that I'm the golden girl, the most beautiful girl that's come out of Four in years.

My fingers are itching to get around a baton again, feel the thin handle in my palm and hear the whistling of the blade as it slashes through the air, letting out all of my pent-up energy. My fists clench just thinking about it. Everyone here is lucky I haven't taken out my frustrations on them yet.

"It's time to go up to the apartments!" Faroud calls for me, standing next to our mentors. He is large and attractive in his own right too, and not nearly as implosive as I am. I scoff at him but return back to my team, letting them lead us away from our carriage.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

Despite the positive attention our costume got, I can't wait to rip it off of me and shower away all the remnants of tonight. I think Blossom wants the same thing, but her face never gives anything away, so who knows.

"The two of you made quite an impression," the escort says as he helps us out of our chariot. "I'm sure everyone will be eagerly awaiting your interviews with Caesar."

"Well, they'll be the only ones," I hiss, ripping off a flag of fake wheat from my shoulder.

Our costumes could have been a disaster, but it seems the stylists had some sense not to put our heads inside the stalks of wheat, and instead sprouted the seeds around us, bent in odd angles like it's caught some kind of disease. A sick, dying plant may not have worked if it wasn't the two of us pulling it off- our stoic demeanors and unchanging faces even in the face of applause and admiration must have struck a chord with the crown, who only loved us all the more.

"Well, it's time to go up to your rooms now," the escort squeals, leading us to the elevator which will project us upwards. I can't say I'm excited, but I'm glad to be away from the noise.

When the doors shut behind us, the sounds is shut off immediately, much to my pleasure. No more sounds of yelling stylists and neighing horses, microphone feedback from the ones that haven't been turned off yet.

"That was quite an entrance for you two," the escort says, desperately trying to make conversation with practically the two worst partners in the country. "Are you excited to begin training?"

"I'm excited to sleep," I say, staring out the glass side of the elevator as the city grows smaller and farther away underneath us. I've never been this high up before.

I glance over at Blossom, her flaming red hair bedraggled and curling around her face from the sweat and moisture. Her eyes are wide with wonder and possibly fear, but she doesn't give too much of it away. She's very calculated, which is too bad. I was hoping my district partner would be an idiot, easily killed by myself or someone else. But instead I had to get stuck with the cult girl, who's probably lived in wanting her whole life, maybe even more than my family. And if the rumors are true about the elusive cult, whose existence is sometimes doubted by people who have never seem them lurking about on Reaping day, then she might have some first-hand experience with killing as well.

"Here we are!"

The elevator dings as the doors open, revealing a luxurious world even more extravagant than our train accommodations. I breathe in sharply as I take in the scenery- the high ceilings, the plush furniture, the Avoxes dressed in red standing to the side of each room with their heads bowed. Is this really how capitolites live every day?

"Your rooms are ready for you if you want to go to sleep early," the escort explains. "But I thought we could have dinner together and discuss your strategy with your mentors."

"It's after dark," I say scathingly. "You want to stay up? Don't we have training tomorrow?"

"Alright, alright," he laughs nervously, waving me away. Perhaps I'm a little more scary than I thought. "You can do what you want, of course. I'll just have dinner with Blossom, then."

Blossom doesn't say a word or even acknowledge that he's said her name, instead migrating with fascination to the window, absentmindedly stroking a blanket hanging off the couch with her fingers.

"I'll see you in the morning," I say with venom, brushing past both of them to hurry to the bedroom.

* * *

 **I hope this was a satisfactory Parade chapter! Next we start with the training chapters, of which there will be three. More tribute interactions and lots of plot to come. Leave your thoughts/suggestions in a review! :)**


	17. Training: Day One

**Hey everyone! Sorry about the long wait; it's finals season and I've been a little busy. But I hope to have the next training chapter up within a week and a half. I hope you all enjoy this one!**

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 _Callum Koche (18)- D1M_

Having breakfast with Passion is a strange affair. At home, I was always the one serving her, scrambling her eggs just right and applying just the right amount of low-fat butter to her perfectly toasted bread. But now I'm sitting beside her at the marble table in our kitchen, the Avoxes circled around us as they attempt to recreate the breakfast I've perfected over the years.

"The toast is too brown!" Passion snaps, shoving the plate back into the Avox's face. "Are you stupid as well as mute? I guess that's why you betrayed the country, huh?"

The Avox bows her head in submission, trudging over to the toaster to find more bread.

"Why don't you just let Callum do it?" Passion sighs, resting her perfectly chiseled face in her palm, elbow sitting on the polished table. She flicks a finger toward me. "Show them, Callum."

I obediently get up and start walking to the counter, but a firm, "Stop, Callum," from Augustus stops me in my tracks. "Avox, make the toast for Passion."

The Avoxes silently get back to cooking, Augustus' eyes turning to me. "Passion, why don't you go get ready to head down for training?" he says without looking at her.

"I'm already dressed," she says indignantly. Her hair is done up in a curled ponytail, tight training outfit unbuttoned up the top. It's reminiscent of the dancing outfits she would wear to her practices back in One.

"Don't you think your makeup should be better for meeting the other Careers?"

Her face hardens, and she immediately jumps up, red blush spreading up her neck. "As if you know anything about fashion! Panem's Favorite Son mocking a future victor whose _clearly_ more attractive than him! The Capitol will love this when I tell them about it in my interview after I've won!"

"You haven't won yet," he says calmly. "And I'm trying to help you get there. Can you just give Callum and I a moment alone?"

Chest heaving, Passion glares at him with a fury and slowly walks away in the direction of the bedrooms. I turn timidly to Augustus, who is looking at me with an eyebrow raised. I feel a swoop in my stomach at meeting his eyes, something I know I'm not supposed to do with superiors.

"Callum, what do you plan on focusing on during training?" he asks in a low voice.

"My aim," I say truthfully. I'm good with a sword, but long-distance weapons are my kryptonite. "And agility. I hear there's an obstacle course."

"Yes, there is," Augustus says in approval. "I think that's a good idea. Have you thought about your strategy for the Games?"

I look up in surprise. "It's a little early for that, I thought… I think Passion and I will figure it out together."

"You mean Passion will tell you what to do," he sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the numerous lights above us designed to looks like fireflies moving around the kitchen. "Passion would make a fine victor, even if she's arrogant. But so would you."

I'm not sure how to respond. I'm not exactly planning on winning- the whole plan since the beginning was to obey Passion and protect her in the arena. For the majesty of the Mavros family that mine has so loyally served, and the prestige of District One. We haven't had a victor since Augustus himself, in the 67th Hunger Games. That was over a decade ago now, and surely he must want someone who will bring pride to the district to inherit his legacy.

Augustus is looking at me expectantly, but instead of responding I just smile uneasily. "I think you should focus on yourself, and less on her," he says. "Try and be your own person."

I can't say I haven't thought about it. Simply going it alone in the arena without Passion, the Careers, or anyone else. I finger the pink bracelet around my wrist from my sister Gemma, realizing it would be nice to come home to her as well. But I know from watching the Games all my life that loners usually don't make it very far if they are targeted by the Careers for whatever reason, such as abandoning their alliance. And I can't imagine letting Passion down, not after all this.

"Will you at least think about it?" Augustus asks, sounding frustrated. I look up at him and quickly avert my eyes before he can see the fear, but I nod.

"Great!" he stands from the table and runs a hand through his layered blonde hair. "District One is perceived as being a bunch of airheads who are more looks than brains or brawn… but maybe you can change that, eh?"

"I can be beautiful _and_ strong!" Passion objects loudly as she reappears in the kitchen. "You're a testament to that, right, Augustus?" she bats her eyelashes at him, shameless as usual.

"I thought I had no fashion sense," he says under his breath. Passion's makeup is different, darker and more pronounced. Her cheekbones look sharp enough to slice someone's throat.

She ignores him. "Is my toast ready or what?" she complains. An Avox hurriedly hands over a plate of toast with a deep bow. Passion sits at the table and sniffs the bread gingerly, then takes a bite with her nose wrinkled. "Acceptable," she declares. "But Callum's is better. I want him making it next time."

"Callum doesn't live to serve you," Augustus says, and I feel my body freeze up. That's not true- I've served her my entire life.

Passion scoffs, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Is that so? We'll see when he dies for me in the arena."

I keep my head low as she continues eating her toast. There's no use in arguing with her, and she's probably right anyway.

"You shouldn't have volunteered out of turn!" Augustus furiously snaps all of a sudden, jumping up and standing over the table. Silence permeates the air for a moment, then he stalks away, presumably to his room.

"What's wrong with him?" Passion asks, but I can tell it's one of her rhetorical questions. "He'll be sorry after I win. Anyway, once I finish this then we should head downstairs, with or without him."

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

Logan and I silently step out from the elevator, taking a scan of the room. Logan convinced me that we should arrive early to scope out some possible allies, but it seems we might have gotten here a little too early. The only people scattered around the training center are the trainers themselves, making sure every station is spotless and prepared for the influx of tributes.

"The others will be here soon," Logan says. "We should take a look around before anyone else gets the chance to."

"Agreed."

The two of us silently head toward the bladed weapons when a woman dressed in a training outfit herself stops us, blocking our path.

"You two need to get in place," she says firmly, pointing to a semi-circle in the middle of the room that's labeled with numbers and genders.

"Not more of this," Logan mutters as we amble back to our place.

The elevator dings as it opens once again, revealing the Careers from One and Two, all of them strangely silent. The girl from One sighs impatiently and taps her foot as we wait, but the three others seem calm and focused. More and more tributes eventually start appearing, this time in larger groups, no one making a peep. We noiselessly arrange ourselves into the correct formation just before the woman from before arrives in the middle, smiling brightly. Her arms are muscular and toned and she looks over the tributes with a quick glance, her eyes easily judging each of our skills… or at least I assume so.

"Welcome to the Training Center. My name is Atala, and I'll be helping you through your three days of training. I want to make sure you are prepared and in shape for the Games before the time comes."

She continues with a description of each of the stations, from survival skills to weapons to athletic courses. I eye the knife station, hoping I'll get a chance to show my experience to Logan and the other potential allies and enemies.

When the twenty-four of us are dispersed, Logan immediately heads right to the swords. I hang back a little, afraid the Careers might get angry at us taking a turn at the blades first, but they just migrate to the spears instead, or perhaps that was their plan all along. Logan is immediately drawn into an avid conversation with the trainer, who shows him how to stand and do some basic swings. I watch at a distance, already knowing that large weapons aren't my thing. I glance around the center, wondering which survival stations will be most pertinent to the arena. Fire-making is always practical, as is knot-tying, traps, and plant identification… that is, if we're dropped into an arena with plants. The desert arena of last time didn't exactly have many that needed identifying.

I glance over at the knife station, where the pair from Eight are learning together with rapt attention at the trainer. The boy attempts a throw that clangs to the ground, causing him to blush up to his ears, but he still picks up another and tries again. I roll my eyes watching them, but their determination is admirable. I know from living on the streets that will to live far surpasses any actual skill when it comes to survival. At least in a District setting. Active killers hunting us in an outdoor arena? Maybe my former knife skills will trump their perseverance.

After the two both manage to make a few solid hits, they wander away in the direction of the camouflage station, and I manage to sneak in without any trouble.

"Hello," the trainers says with a kind smile. I give him a half-hearted one and pick up the closest knife, the smallest one that feels smooth and light in my palm. I don't let him get another word in before I let the knife fly, and is sticks solidly in the target, though far from the bull's eye.

"Impressive," he remarks. "Some prior training?"

"You could say that," I grumble, grabbing a larger knife and getting to work on a dummy, slicing at its neck and stomach, even slitting open its ankles, which I know will incapacitate anyone. I know my skills are subpar compared to the fights I've seen on-screen before, especially involving Careers, but it's a good start. As the trainer steps in to correct my footwork, I glance over at Logan and see he's making progress as well, though a short line has developed for the sword station, meaning he might have to leave soon.

I put the trainer's advice to work and am pleased to see that the knife work is much easier when I actually think about where I'm putting my feet, and I have better control of the knife rather than slicing indiscriminately.

"You're doing great!" the trainer says with delight, and I give him a hesitant smile. It's strange learning from these people who have taught so many other tributes in the past, and who don't care whether we live or die.

"Pagani."

I turn to see Logan standing on the edge of the mat for the knife training. "Time to go?" I ask, putting the knife back onto its stand and stepping down from the mat.

"We need to make sure our survival skills are up for spending weeks in the arena," he says, eyes sharply looking around the training area. "We won't be able to fight anyone if we don't have food or water."

I have a feeling his intentions might be a little less simple- he's clearly looking around for potential allies, eyes fixed on the sword station that is now occupied by the guy from Five as we settle down in the fire-making station. I'm already quite adept at making first for warmth on the streets, but I'm not used to the strange materials they have us use. Fire blocks and twigs aren't exactly common in District Six. However, I manage to make one after a few tries, and help Logan with his. He seems distracted, and I follow his line of sight to see he's still watching the guy from Five at the sword station, swinging one around with obvious inexperience, but he seems determined to learn, now setting down the straight edge and picking up a machete.

"He's tall, but he looks a little scrawny, don't you think?" I ask Logan under my breath as I help him strike the fire block.

"They could say the same about either of us," he says.

I shrug and get back to my own fire, which is crackling and blazing merrily. I glance over at the Careers, who are still messing around with the more novel weapons, the girl from Two cracking a whip loudly in a way that makes the entire Center turn to look.

"We need someone to help us against them," Logan says lowly.

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M_

I thrust the javelin as hard as I can toward the target, grinning from ear to ear as the point embeds itself into the soft material. I grab another from the hands of the trainer beside me and toss it, this one hitting the knee of another human outline. If it was a real person, they would be doubled over in pain, never to walk again.

"Bull's eye," Marlowe tells me with a smirk. She swings around her bladed baton, the movements as graceful as a dancer and as deadly as a viper. Her golden hair flips around her face in a glorious wave as she slices open a rubber dummy and its head flops to the ground. The sounds of the whip cracking on the other side of the wall interrupt whatever she's about to say. The tributes from Two certainly seem capable, but not very sociable. After introducing themselves, the two of them headed off to their own stations to train.

"What does she think a whip is going to do against a blade?" Marlowe whispers to me as we set down our weapons and head over to where the pair from One is still standing around, the girl arguing with the trainer about something.

Passion, the girl who had stepped out naked for the Tribute Parade. I feel a smirk spread on my face as we approach them.

"I know how to use a mace! We've done this plenty of times before!" she exclaims, sounding frustrated. "Callum holds the dummy still while I attack it, it's not that hard to understand!"

"It's too dangerous for someone to hold the dummies," the trainers says, irritated. "They will stay still just fine on their own."

Passion huffs and throws down her gigantic spiked mace, the clatter causing everyone to look. "Fine," she declares. "I'll just go to the axes instead." She turns around and startles at the sight of Marlowe and I, now face to face with her and Callum.

"Good morning," Marlowe says pleasantly. "Something wrong?"

The fire in Passion's eyes only draws me closer to her. "These people have no idea what they're talking about. Saying it's too dangerous for Callum to help me… that's the whole reason he's here!"

"I thought we were all here to win," Marlowe says calmly. Passion just sighs and nudges Callum forward, toward the axe station.

"I am, at least," Passion says. She turns to me. "I saw what you can do with a javelin."

"I saw what you can do with some black dust," I say with a grin. "I didn't get the chance to talk to you after the Parade."

I can see Marlowe rolling her eyes in my peripheral vision, taking Callum by the shoulder and guiding him away. He looks back after Passion with a desperate expression. Passion inspects my face and body, then smiles a little.

"That's too bad," she smiles, leaning on one foot. "But we'll have a lot of time to talk now."

"Let's check out the axes," I suggest, linking her arm in mine and leading her to where Marlowe and Callum are already training. Marlowe tosses one over her head and lands a perfect bull's eye, a satisfied smirk on her face. Callum tries the same, spending a little too long aiming only for the axe to land outside of the target completely. Frustrated, he takes a smaller hatchet and tries, this time managing to hit the shoulder of the person.

"Don't think about it too much," I say to him, taking a large axe and hefting it over my shoulder, making sure Passion is watching. I swing it forward with as much strength as I can muster, and the blade buries itself into the stomach of the target.

Passion whistles in appreciation, eyes dark as she stares at my muscular arms. I don't reveal that I was actually aiming for higher up, in the chest or neck area. I'm better with thinner and lighter weapons, an irony that isn't lost on me when Passion runs a hand down my bicep. "Let me try," she says suddenly, pushing me aside a little and grabbing a large axe, managing to land a solid hit right in the face with almost no aiming time, and another in the chest. She grins with glee and dances around me, black hair a curtain behind her. She really is beautiful, a face I'm not going to mind seeing everyday until she dies.

"Very good," a voice says, and we turn to see the girl from Two, Leto, trailed by Cyprian. Her sharp, serious eyes take in the scene. "Is that yours?" she asks Callum, pointing to his failed attempts. He nods timidly. "Practice more," she says simply, taking a moderately sized axe and beginning to chop up a dummy, her body sliding perfectly in and out of reach of an imaginary weapon.

"We should try the survival stations," Cyprian says in his deep voice. It's the first time I've heard him speak since introducing himself.

"What?" I laugh, looking to Passion for approval. "We don't need that shit. We'll have supplies from the Cornucopia."

"How about the Careers in the 65th Games, when the entire pack ran into poison oak because they didn't know how to identify it?" he asks in a monotone. "Or in the 72nd, when the guy from Four died because he had an open wound he didn't know how to treat? Or in the 59th, when the supplies were destroyed by a flood?"

"I didn't ask for a history lesson," I laugh, smacking him on the shoulder. "Do want you want, Two. I'll be right here with my babies." I kiss one of the axe blades and he gives me a pained look.

"I'll go with you, Cyprian," Leto says, setting her axe back in place on the rack with care. The two of them turn without another word and head to the traps station, not at all perturbed by the other tributes gawking at them.

"Whatever," I scoff. "I'm going back to the javelins."

"Same," Marlowe says, letting an axe clang to the floor as she marches back to the batons. The trainer seems delighted by this, apparently not used to tributes who are so interested in the obscure weapon.

I suddenly feel a hand on the small of my back, and I turn around to see a smirking Passion. "Let me show you what I can do with a mace."

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

The words of my mentors this morning echo in my head as I look around the training center, listening closely to the voices of the other tributes as they ask timid questions to the trainers, their sounds of exertion as they tumble around the obstacle course or swing a weapon. The mentors thought it best that I focus on survival stations, while only trying my hand at a few key weapons, namely the crossbows and knives. While I agree about the weapons, I don't want to spend my three days here in the same fire-making and plant identification stations. I need to be lithe, silent, and flexible. And perhaps most importantly… I need to blend in. Literally and figuratively.

That's why I sit at the camouflage station, earning the approval of the trainer who praises my ability to so easily paint myself into a muddy river bank. I swipe another color of dark green onto my skin, rubbing it into my dark skin to make the color of forest leaves. I paint a few onto myself, frowning as they don't turn out exactly as expected. The trainer leans in to give me some tips, and I tune her out to listen to the voices around me.

The boy from Twelve, Rylex, is making easy conversation with the trainer at the shelter-making station, his voice kind and extroverted… easy to mimic. It's the quiet ones who are hard to replicate. On my other side, the girl from Eleven is softly speaking to the trainer about how to tie a specific knot. Hers will be harder to mimic, the gentleness, the youth, yet the intensity. I'll have to listen more to hers if I want to replicate it successfully.

I manage to paint myself an acceptable mottle of colors to look like a part of a forest floor. I guess I can only hope the arena has trees… which reminds me, I need to be prepared for whatever arena they drop me in. I drift to the plant identification station, hoping that at least some of the plants will be present in the arena for medicinal or nutritional purposes. The trainer welcomes me with a giant smile that I return easily, reclining lazily on the grassy ground as she explains the process of identification to me. Number and shape of leaves, smell, texture, height, color… I absorb as much as I can.

"Can I slide in?"

The two of us look up to see the girl from Five standing there timidly.

"Sure!" the trainer says. "What's your name?"

"Rai," the girls says, putting her platinum blonde hair behind her ear. I remember her outfit from the Parade, a glowing solar panel metaphorically powering the nation. "What is this one?" She points to something I now know to be a desert rose. "It's so pretty."

"It'll kill you," I say pleasantly, giving her a spacey smile.

She looks at me for a moment, then giggles. She's putting on a show, I can tell. Those people are even easier to imitate- everything they do and say is already so planned out that you just have to identify the pattern and replicate it. Plus, her girlish voice isn't so different from mine in register.

"There are some flowers that are edible, though!" the trainer exclaims, moving on to talk about which petals are safe to consume, though they might not provide much nutritional value. Then we move on to talking about safe and unsafe berries, which is a little harder, especially when I know that the Capitol has a tendency to make their own hybrid plants to trick people into eating them. But if I know the signs of a poisonous plant, I know what to stay away from.

The most important is the medicinal herbs, which we spend a long time going over. We're sent over to the first-aid station to make a salve from various wild plants. We chew them up and then fashion a sort of bandage for the imaginary wound, covering the entire area and bandaging it with some cloth, assuming we'll have some in the arena. Rai and I make friendly conversation the entire time, but when we're finished, I only give her a soft smile before moving on to the obstacle course.

This is where I need to focus my time. Staying quiet and out of sight is a matter of stealth and agility, which I know I need to work on. As I wait in line for the course, I practice my silent walking, trying to reduce the noise of my shoes on the hard floors. When it's my turn on the course, I try to get through not just as quickly as possible, but silently as well. I swing from the ropes and jump and roll my way through the obstacles, crawling when I have to to make myself quieter. The others might think I'm insane or simply afraid of the course, but I'm pleased with my run when I'm finished. I'll have to return again to improve, but silence is something I can practice even in my bedroom.

I finally decide to have a try at the weapons. I immediately head for the crossbows, which are thankfully void of tributes. The trainer welcomes me enthusiastically and gives me some basic instruction on how to hold a crossbow and what happens when I let loose an arrow. Not far away, I catch sight of my district partner Dylan at the axe section, sweating as he hacks away at a dummy. He has strong arms and determination, but the trainer doesn't seem happy with his precision or footwork. As she steps in to correct him, my own trainer tells me to focus. I turn back to my target and take some deep breaths before letting an arrow fly. It misses the target completely, but the trainer still commends my finger positions. He helps me try again and again until my fingers hurt from the strain, but eventually I manage to nick a target in the hip area. I celebrate with a grin, trying a few more times until the bell rings for lunch.

"Great progress!" the trainer praises me with a smile. "Come back later if no one else is here."

I don't doubt that I will. A crossbow is exactly the kind of weapon I'm looking for to give me a deadly edge from a safe distance. If I can sneak up behind someone and take down from far away, I'll be able to take on anyone.

 _Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F_

Sitting with Jeremy at lunch is like sitting beside a wild animal with no concept of civility. I wrinkle my nose at him as he stuffs a piece of bread into his mouth, followed by the apple that the Capitol has _so graciously_ provided us. He chews with his eyes unfocused, like he can't really taste what he's eating, despite his desperation.

"I'm starting to wonder why I'm sitting with you," I sneer, taking a sip of orange juice. The food here is probably simple by Capitol standards, but I've never had fruit juices before.

"It's not my fault you've been following me around," he says without looking at me.

I bristle, but he's not entirely wrong. My sole strategy so far has been to follow Jeremy around and learn tips wherever I can. I don't want to make it obvious what I already know about plants, fires, traps, and the like, so I figured weapons are what I need to brush up on. But it seems Jeremy is a much faster learner than I am- after only a few minutes of practice could he hit the bull's eye with a spear without a problem. The trainer commended him as a prodigy, practically absorbing all his time and leaving none for me.

"I wasn't following you," I hiss. "I wanted to learn the spears, but you were hogging them."  
"Fine," he says, gulping down his milk. "I'll move to the swords so you can have a try." He seems unconcerned, raising a finger to ask an Avox for seconds. She brings him another plate of pasta, which he eagerly scarfs down without sparing me a glance.

I grimace. "Just because the Capitol treats us like wild animals doesn't mean you have to eat like one."

Jeremy glances up at me, his eyes unfocused. "I'm just trying to eat as much as I can before the Games," he says. "A few extra pounds means I can go longer in the arena."

I scoff and grab my tray, sliding farther down the table to sit alone. He doesn't seem to care, absorbed in his own meal. Maybe it's time that I part ways with dear Jeremy, who takes himself far too seriously. I can survive training without him, and I'll outlast him in the arena, and if I don't… well, I've had a pretty good life so far. I can't exactly complain.

I scan the rest of the room, taking in all of the alliances that have already formed. Of course the Careers are in the center of it all, laughing boisterously together about something the big guy from Four said. They don't seem concerned with what the rest of us are doing. That is, until I see the girl from Two staring over at us, her sharp eyes watching our every move. I'm used to people staring at me. My short hair, unapologetic attitude, and boyish clothes earned me unwanted attention even in Ten. But Leto's eyes aren't fixed on me, but on Jeremy instead. Perhaps I'm not the only one who's noticed his skills with a spear.

I suppress a laugh and spoon another bite of soup into my mouth. If Jeremy wants to continue making a target of himself by revealing all of his strengths, then so be it. I'll stick to my own plan- stay out of the spotlight and keep to myself, even avoiding attention from the trainers and Gamemakers who pop in to watch us every once and awhile. I stand out enough as it is, and if anyone knows how resilient or skilled I am at finding food or making fires, traps, or anything of the like, then I will certainly make their hit list. It's best to stay an underdog.

Behind me, I hear someone start to cough violently. I turn, as does half of the room, to see the red-haired boy from Seven covering his mouth with his elbow as he coughs into it. The little girl beside him places a hand on his back as if to soothe him, but her eyes flicker around the rest of the room with an underlay of fear. Once the coughing subsides, the boy straightens back up and whispers something hoarsely to his sister as they begin eating again. What a fool, volunteering to be with his sister when he knows they will likely die anyway. Why anyone would do something like that is beyond me.

I silently eat the rest of my meal while observing the other tributes. Most of them are still sitting in pairs or alone, aside from the Careers. Some are focused solely on their food, while others glance around nervously, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. I accidentally make some with the boy from Three who is sitting alone, and he quickly looks away. I smirk before remembering that I'm supposed to seem unassuming and non-threatening. I turn down to my food and finish eating without looking at anyone else.

After a few more minutes, the bell rings again and the Avoxes start silently cleaning up our messes. As we all move out of the cafeteria and back into the training area, I immediately decide to head for the medicine station. Despite all of the knowledge I obtained on the ranch, I never learned much about first aid, let alone for humans. As I make my way over to the trainer, who is smiling brightly at the mass of tributes, I notice the girl from Two approaching Jeremy. I stop in my tracks to watch, as a few other people slow to see as well, but the conversation is brief. She says something to him in a low tone, and he responds with a wave of his hand, not too dismissive but definitely a refusal. He heads to the swords without a backward glance, and Leto seems disappointed.

I snort as I settles in for my lesson in first aid, watching as Jeremy slices open a dummy's stomach with deadly precision. He's a fool for not accepting an invitation from the Careers, but an even bigger one to keep flaunting his apparent skills as if to mock them. The Careers don't seem too perturbed by this, caught up in their own world of conversation and chin-ups, but the pair from Two does look a little strained. Perhaps they're regretting their choice to volunteer now that they have to team up with the morons from One and Four.

Whatever. If Jeremy dies at the hands of the Careers, then that's less competition for me.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

After spending some time with the machete this morning, I'm feeling pretty confident about my ability to fight. A bit more training throughout the next two days, and I'll be able to stand my ground in a lethal fight, even with a Career if they're tired or wounded. But I know that while weapons are the bloody way to kill an opponent, there are also other ways. Specifically, here at the plant identification station. Without giving too much of my strategy away, I carefully listen to the trainer speak about the different leaves and stems that are deadly to an animal or human, and which ones are safe. I especially pay attention to the ones that look similar, but extreme differences in safety, pleasant smile on my face as I identify them for the trainer. I imagine boiling a tea of wild parsnips and serving it to an ally once the competition has weaned out a little.

Speaking of… I glance around the training center, eying the Careers who are now at the obstacle course showing off their strength and agility. I enviously watch as the guy from Two easily leaps over a five foot wall and climbs up a rope, then wall climbs back down. I'm too skinny and untrained to be able to pull off something like that, which is why I've decided to steer clear of the obstacle course. Cyprian's red hair and stubble are illuminated in the harsh light of the training center, even his sweat glistening as he breathes heavily. His forehead is wrinkled into a frown as he looks at his time on the giant timer beside the course. He shakes his head and his district partner says something into his ear.

"And what is the classification of this plant?"

I turn back to the trainer and smile at them again, thinking for a little while with my hand under my chin before saying, "It's the one that grows in the rainforest… curare?"

"Yes!" He joyfully removes the curly vine from his lap- the dangerous plant itself sits in a clear box to prevent any contact with it. "You're a fast learner."

"I've been told that before."

I quickly become the trainer's favorite student as the time passes, and I devote more and more time to learning the dangers and benefits of each plant, as other tributes come and go with various degrees of success. The pair from Eight come by together, both of them quick learners that easily pick up on which of the plants are safe and which are dangerous. They struggle with the names, but as the guy, Thimble, so eloquently put it, "It doesn't matter if you know the name if you know if its safe to eat or not."

Despite their intelligence, they're not exactly what I'm looking for in an alliance. They're both too young and too physically weak, and neither look particularly resilient in the face of emotional catastrophe, which might mean they would be easier to manipulate but also would be more unreliable.

They leave to head to the camouflage station, and soon after I see Rai start to approach the plant station, only to stop in her tracks when she sees me. My expression is neutral when I meet her eyes, but she seems to thankfully take it as hostility and moves away. She's also too weak for my liking, though she did show some surprising ability to act during the Parade. As I watch her platinum hair bounce away, I wonder if she will end up one of the fan favorites. She's pretty, after all, and old enough for guys in the Capitol to fawn over, and knows how to play it just right.

Soon after, another pair shows up who are clearly allied together and not afraid to show it. I've had my eyes on the boy from Six since rewatching the Reapings, his muscular appearance, age, and determination making him a powerful candidate. I'm not sure how I feel about the girl, Pagani, who is younger and doesn't look as well-fed as her district partner, but she too seems motivated. She watches quietly as Logan asks the trainer his questions, keen eyes taking everything in. Pagani's eyes meet mine and for a moment I consider looking away, but instead I give her a friendly smile and offer a dandelion leaf for her to look at.

"You can make tea out of this stuff, or eat it outright," I tell her. She looks as me suspiciously, but Logan glances over at the sound of my voice, sizing me up.

"Hello," he says. "Your name's Volt, right?"

So they've done their homework, same as me. "Yes, that's right," I say, matching his relaxed but respectful demeanor. "And you're… Lance? No, Logan."

He smiles at me. He has a kind smile, and caring eyes. Maybe he's too soft for my liking, but the girl is staring at me with open dislike, so perhaps it won't matter in the long run.

"I have a friend named Lance," he says, his eyes flickering with sadness for a moment before returning to pleasantness. "I saw you with a machete," he tells me, working on carefully picking out which plants are poison ivy and which are copycats. He's a fast learner as well, though he does make some mistakes.

I laugh a little and shake my head. "You saw that? I need a lot more practice."

"I could help you," Logan offers, and Pagani turns sharply to look at him. "You have a lot of potential," he continues, ignoring her. "I have some limited experience with weapons and the like, but I need to learn more too. We could fight each other."

The timer goes off and the trainer reveals Logan's score, which he identified correctly and which he would have rashes from walking through. "I need to work on this as well," he grimaces, but he doesn't seem too concerned, instead settling himself in to learn more, not at all discouraged.

"I think we should spend more time on survival skills," Pagani murmurs, glancing at me. "By ourselves."

"Well…" Logan clears his throat. "I was thinking we could see how we get along and maybe ally together." He looks at me hopefully. "But only if you're up for it. Or you could take some time to thi-"

"No, I would love to," I say, perhaps too quickly, because Pagani's eyes narrow more at my voice. "I've been thinking about making a large alliance," I say, lowering my voice and they both lean in to listen. "Something to rival the Careers. Are you in?"

Logan seems pleased. "I've been thinking the same thing. I think we'll work well together," he says like we're professionals making a business agreement. "You seem really good at these plants; can you teach us more?"

"Of course, settle in."

 _Rylex Steele (17)- D12M_

I swing the pickaxe into the dummy's head, splitting open its gel skull. My stomach turns as I imagine a real person falling to the ground, their brains splattered on my weapon, a cannon firing in the distance.

"Great job!" the trainer claps, setting up another dummy for me to practice with. This time, let's pretend they have a weapon of their own. Maybe a small knife. You can't get too close or they'll slice you."

The dummy is set into a track that moves it back and forth over a small area in the ground. Perhaps a little too unnatural to how a person would move, but still better than a lifeless figure. I plant my feet into the ground and leap forward, then jolt back as the dummy moves closer to me. In the background, I can hear the thuds of Terra's knives hitting their targets. It seems we're becoming quite a team.

I pick the perfect moment to swing my pickaxe, catching the dummy right in the chest. It tumbles to the ground with a splat and the trainer applauds again. "You Twelve kids always know how to use a pickaxe," he says with a bright grin. He seems genuinely excited. I give him a friendly smile and wave to him as I leave for the next tribute to try their hand at the dummy track. The little girl from Eleven is next, and she keeps eye contact with me as I walk past her. I keep a pleasant smile on my face as I do so, and she smiles back a little, face softening.

I try not to think about what a shame it is that all of us are trapped here, waiting to kill each other when we might have gotten along so well otherwise. That tiny sweet girl might be the one that I have to pierce with a pickaxe in the arena. The thought makes me shudder, but I remember the words that the mayor delivered to me from my mom. I need to be whatever I can to survive.

As I migrate to the knives, where Terra is now slicing a dummy to death as the trainer watches on proudly, I glance up to the Gamemakers' box where the suited men and women have been periodically filtering in and out. Some barely pay attention to us, instead focused on making conversation, but other raptly scan the room and absorb every bit of information on us that they can. Every now and then I can make out the form of the Head Gamemaker Bellona Presque, recognizable from her appearances on TV, but she's not present now. Instead there are only a few men, one of them sitting right up front and staring out of the window, right at me. I blink curiously, and when he notices me staring, he turns away quickly and focuses on the obstacle course, where several tributes are tumbling over the rock wall.

"What's up?"

I'm snapped back down to my level at the sound of Terra's voice. She's covered in sweat and breathing heavily, apparently making the most out of her training.

"Nothing," I reply. I don't want to consider the possibility that a Gamemaker has already singled me out for some reason. "Where do you want to go next?"

Terra takes a swig of water from the cantine she was given, a number Twelve emblazoned on the side in white. "I don't know, plants and stuff?" she posits, sounding unsure. "Then we can get back to weapons."

"Weapons are the smallest part," I tell her, glancing around the training area to see what stations have openings. The plant station is occupied by the pair from Six and the guy from Five, who are apparently already chummy with each other, laughing amiably as they identify poison oak leaves. "Survival is more important, you know."

"Well, how are we going to _survive_ a fight if we can't use a spear?" she asks, but I can tell she's just trying to get a rise out of me.

"Let's learn how to make a shelter," I say, spotting an empty station. "We'll need to stay out of the rain to win, right?"

She rolls her eyes, but goes along with me anyway.

The shelter building station is fairly easy, and I make fluent conversation with the trainer while Terra supplies snarky comments every now and then. We manage to learn how to make a simple lean-to from wood and even how to make a shelter from piling stones together. Depending on the arena we end up in, we might never make a shelter like this. But as I remind Terra, the training isn't as much about learning to build one specific shelter, but giving us the knowledge of how to improvise when necessary. I'm sure that the tricks the trainer taught us about building using triangles will apply to anything else we attempt to build.

From there, we move on to the fire-making station, which is thankfully empty. We try our hands at making fires, something that is a littler harder than placing sticks and stones together.

"Will we really need this if we find some fire-making tools at the Cornucopia?" Terra asks, her carefully hidden frustration showing through her usually relaxed demeanor. She gazes back over to the weapons, where the little girl from Seven is now trying her hand at the knives. Her aim isn't the best, but she makes up for it with determination. As I watch, she manages to make one stick into the target.

"Terra!" I call her attention back to me. She turns with a glare with no heat behind it. "We need to focus on the reality of what's happening. What if the arena is a frozen wasteland? Will a knife keep your body temperature up?"

Despite the sharp language, or perhaps because of it, the words seem to get through to her. She nods and gets back to work, nimble fingers striking stones against each other until a fire sparks up underneath them.

"Great job!" the trainer exclaims with a grin. "Now we'll try with just sticks!"

Terra sighs resignedly, and I glance back up to the Gamemakers' box to see that same man staring at me again. His blue eyes are visible from here, staring right into me. This time he doesn't turn away when he sees me staring, instead if anything intensifying his gaze. I don't know what to make of it. Perhaps the Gamemakers are each assigned to observe one tribute… but none of the others are being watched so closely.

"We need more allies," I say suddenly.

Terra looks up at me with confusion. "What? You don't think we can do it on our own?"

I glance back to her, her eyes narrowed in irritation. "No, of course we can. But we might as well have a safety net, right?"

"I don't know if you've noticed yet, but I'm not exactly a people person like you," Terra says matter-of-factly, going back to rubbing two sticks together over a pile of kindling.

I feel a smirk pull at my lips. She might say that, and maybe be a little abrasive at first, but I know if we find some people that are nice and capable enough that can deal with her sarcasm, we'll be set.

 _Sparrow Lavallee (12)- D7F_

I glance over nervously at Raven, who is sitting at the knot-tying station with his brows furrowed, trying his best to concentrate on the piece of rope in front of him. But focusing has never been his strong suit, and it seems he can feel me watching him, for he turns and gives me a knowing smile and a wave. He said he shouldn't waste his time practicing with weapons because he already knows how to swing an axe, but I have a feeling the reason is much more serious than that. As he sits on the ground, I can see the pain in his face whenever he has to shift his legs or lean forward to look at the trainer's rope. He knows that I know something is wrong… the only question is when he will admit it.

I turn back to the instructor, who is giving me a kind smile. He seems to think me a sweet little girl, as most people do. "Why don't you give it another go?" he suggests gently, gesturing to the human-shaped targets across the way. They blink ominously, disappearing and reappearing as if someone was walking through bushes without moving. I pick up a knife and draw back the handle, focusing hard on the blinking person-shaped lights in front of me. I imagine that it is a lone tribute Raven and I found in the woods, if there are some in the arena. They walk slowly through the brush, unbeknownst to our presence. They aren't a threat to us now, but they might be in the future if we don't eliminate them. Raven is incapacitated by his mysterious handicap. I take a deep breath. I have to kill this person, even if they might be innocent, even if they are fighting for their survival the same as us.

I let the knife fly, the blade slicing through the air with a glint in the light, embedding itself into the neck of the person ahead of me.

The trainer whoops for joy, even clapping for me. "That was your best throw yet! You're a quick learner, little one." He gives me the same smile.

"Thanks…" I mumble, turning away. It's always uncomfortable when people praise me, even the teachers at school when they praise me for my test grades or my memory.

"He's right."

I turn sharply to see the girl from Eight, her caramel skin and black hair curled to her shoulders. She smirks at me in a carefree way, standing with her hip jutting out.

"Thank you," I say softly. Is she trying to scope out the competition? Or more accurately, seeing who is easy prey?

"I saw you over at the memorization station," she says, sauntering past me to grab a knife. It's a simple switchblade, the point gleaming in the light. I gulp nervously, wondering if I should back away. She wouldn't try anything in training, would she? We're not allowed.

"What's going on here?"

My heart races as I turn again to see Raven behind me. He's panting lightly, his face as red as his hair.

The girl raises an eyebrow. "Just practicing."

Raven grabs my arm and roughly pulls me away, coughing a little as he glares at her. "Don't talk to my sister. Especially when I'm not here."

"I didn't realize she was under your jurisdiction," she says with a shrug. "The name's Flux."

Raven looks her up and down with narrowed eyes for a few moments. "Raven. This is Sparrow."

"Cool." Flux turns abruptly and starts slashing away at a dummy, her hair bouncing behind her with each hack at the silicon.

Raven lets out a slow breath, his eyes still bulging out of his head. He turns to me and pulls me away from the weaponry, over to the trap station where the guy from Eleven eyes us suspiciously. Raven gives him a dirty look and plops down on the floor with a groan.

"We have to be careful, Sparrow," he hisses. "These people are our enemies."

"She approached me," I say defensively. "Besides, you're the one that needs to be careful! You can barely walk faster than a snail's pace without coughing! I should be the one scolding you!"

"Keep your voice down," he says lowly, trying to get me to sit down beside him.

I smack his hand away and glare down at him. "When are you going to be honest with me? We don't keep things from each other!"

He sighs in resignation, running a hand down his face tiredly. He doesn't look like the strong, frivolous brother I once had. His eyes are drained of their usual bright green, staring at the floor blankly. "Look, Sparrow. You know that I'm sick. It's been a while now, but I didn't think it would get so much worse so quickly. But when I saw you on that stage all by yourself…"

"What?" I prompt as he trails off, his eyes unfocused. "You thought you would kill yourself alongside me? Or you thought you could somehow help me win? Look at the situation you've put us in!"

I glare down at him fuming, a few other tributes and trainers side-eying us awkwardly, but most continuing with their training. Raven looks up at me, his eyes now filled with unshed tears. "You're my little sister. I raised you. I _remember_ the moment you were born. Pa was too overwhelmed with his grief about Ma's death, but I stepped forward, picked you up with my small hands and held you close. I loved you above everything since that day… so much that it almost breaks my heart. Sometimes those feelings threaten to overwhelm me. And even if I had a wife and kids, I sincerely doubt I would love them more than I love you. And because of that, I volunteered. Because of that, I would, and probably will, die for you. Not even because I want to help you win, though that is part of it. No, it's because every single moment I get to spend with you is tens of times, hundreds of times more valuable than a moment without you. And if these are the last days of your life, I am sure as shit gonna spend them with you. So, please forgive me, little star, if I remain by your side just a little longer."

I'm frozen throughout his entire speech, unsure of how to respond, or even if I should. He hasn't called me his little star in years, not since I was a little kid. It's so deeply buried in my mind that I thought I had dreamed it up.

"Raven…" I say, finally sitting down beside him on the floor. "You have more to live for than just me." But even as I say it, I know the words are a lie. What would I have done if Raven were Reaped? Live alone with Pa? Tried to move on from the only person in my life that I can truly trust?

A shrill bell sound rings through the training center, hurting my ears. Raven groans as he stands, using my shoulder as a means to stand straight. "Time for bed. Finally."

I silently take his hand and lead him to the elevator, where the tributes are lining up to be brought back to their apartments. This is all my fault… I was the one that killed our mother. It's because of me that Raven had to start working in the forests early, getting sick and having no choice but to keep going. And I was the one who was Reaped, and now we're both here together, likely to die within the next few days.

But at least we'll have each other.

 _Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker_

The Gamemaking Center is alive with activity, as it always is this time of year. Last year, I was so assured of myself and my abilities to lead the team that I had no time to be stressed, only excited about what was to come. I would have gladly worked twenty-four seven to make the Games the best they could be, and I did for a time. But this past year has changed me, ever since Rowan revealed that… I shake my head and take another sip of the drink in front of me. I usually don't drink except at work events, but I need the extra haziness in my brain to be able to push aside my worries for the coming weeks. Once the Games actually begin, then I will be in my right mind again, ready to take on the world.

I glance out the glass wall of my office, where the team is frantically preparing the arena for use. It's completely constructed and engineered, of course, years in advance. But a few things need touching up in their design. Mutts. Landscapes. Tricks, hiding spots, deadly surprises. I feel a flicker of my old inspiration weakly ignite within me. For a moment, I desire to get up and parade in front of the team, my head held high as I ask about betting rates, reactions to the Parade, preparations for the interviews. But it fades quickly, and I slump back down onto my desk.

"Miss Presque?"

I immediately sit up straight, calling "Yes!" in response to my assistant Aelia. She opens the door and enters with a flourish of her long silver hair, icy blue eyes and shimmering tattoos, which look like she's touched up recently. Ice Queen aesthetic has been all the rage since Celia Winterbourne's Games, and it seems Aelia is proud to have been ahead of the trend.

"Livianus Publicus is here to see you."

I groan. "He doesn't have an appointment."

"Apparently it's urgent."

I sigh and hesitate for a moment, then wave for him to enter. Aelia steps aside and allows the door to open far enough for a familiar face to come inside. He gives me an uneasy smile, blue eyes wrinkling. He'll need to get that touched up soon. He's in his thirties now, when surgeries are more about fixing the problems of aging than simply cosmetic enhancements.

"What is so urgent, Livianus? You know this is a busy time."

"I know, but…" he nervously glances at Aelia out of the corner of his eye. "It's about the tributes."

My heart immediately jumps into my throat, and I motion for Aelia to leave. She doesn't know about the Nylon secret, and she never will. Livianus isn't supposed to either, but I have a feeling he's either found out or is simply coming around to suck up to me again. He's a hard worker that gets things done, but can never resist an opportunity to grovel to me.

"Tell me now, Livianus," I say, trying not to seem worried or upset, only exasperated. "You know we're all busy."

"Yes, Miss Presque," Livianus says. His eyes are darting around the room, as if afraid that someone might listen in. "But I have something very important to tell you. You just have to promise you won't tell anyone."

"What do you mean?" I ask suspiciously.

"It's about the boy from Twelve…" he takes a deep breath. "Do you remember reading my resume?"

"Seneca Crane is the one that hired you."

"So you didn't read it?"

"I know bits and pieces of it," I say, leaning forward on my hands.

"Well, then you must know that I was an informant for the Capitol for several years before entering Gamemaker training."

"Yes, yes." I'm well aware of Livianus' past as a spy in Districts Ten and Twelve, which earned him favor with the president and a spot in the Gamemaker Academy. "Why are you bringing it up? Those times are long gone."

"Well…" Livianus shifts on his feet. "You should know something about my time in Twelve. You see, in order to gain the trust of the people there, I had to… shack up with some woman."

I raise my eyebrow at him. "And you're telling me this because…?"

"Because she ended up getting pregnant. That's not unusual for spies… in fact it was a even encouraged so that we would seem a true part of the community… as long as we don't let our attachments get in the way."

I'm starting to understand what he's talking about. "Don't tell me what I think you're telling me."

"The boy, Rylex Steele, is my son," he confirms. "I haven't seen him since he was a little baby. He and his mother think I died in a mine accident. I'm required to tell you so that I can't be put on his case during the Games. It's too much of a conflict of interest."

"Oh my god, Livianus," I say sharply, getting up and fixing him with my glare. "You realize if the President finds out he could remove you from the team entirely? Maybe permanently. How could not have told me earlier?"

"It's not a secret that I conceived a child," he says uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to talk about this subject with me. "President Snow probably already knows that he was the one Reaped. I was afraid to tell you because I thought you would remove me… but please don't." He looks at me with pleading eyes, hands twisting nervously in front of his body. I've never seen him so anxious before, normally so carefree and loose.

"Didn't the Steele boy have a brother that was Reaped?" I ask in a moment of realization. "He was killed in the bloodbath of the 73rd Games."

"Half-brother," Livianus assures me. "Please, Miss Presque, Bellona, let me stay here and live out my dream of Gamemaking."

I sigh. "Fine. You can stay on, but you don't get a say in anything that happens to him, Games or otherwise. Or his district partner or any allies he makes, just to be safe."

"Thank you!" I grasps his hands together like he's praying. "This is all I've ever wanted, to be a Gamemaker. And you know that I've served you and Mr. Crane faithfully for years, and I've always loved my country-"

"You're a competent Gamemaker," I interrupt. "Now get back to your post and tell no one else about this."

He nods frantically, removing himself from the office and bouncing back down to his desk. I watch him through the glass wall with a heavy sigh. I know Livianus wouldn't try to sabotage the Games to save his son, but it's always a possibility that someone else will find out and suspect foul play. We'll have to be careful.

I glance at the pile of papers on my desk, all waiting to be read and approved- plans for daily weather in the arena; which is subject to change of course depending on the tributes' actions; final mutt designs, new logos for the corner of the television screen for each tribute's gender. There was a time I would passionately pore over these documents, determined to make the best decision possible and be involved in every little part of the Hunger Games plans. But now I can only think about what the President will think. Not the citizens, not the critics, not even my own taste… all I can do is try to save my own reputation with the most powerful man in the world.

A shiver runs down my spine. I have to make these Games extra special- extra bloody, super dramatic, and ultra violent.

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 **I just realized how many words this chapter has, which explain why it took me so long to write XD. I think the longest one yet. But whatever- I want them to be finished when they're finished, whether they're short or long.**

 **So, thoughts? Has this changed your perspective on any of the tributes? Opinions on budding alliances? Any predictions? I'm eager to hear them. Thanks so much for reading!**


	18. Training: Day Two

**Hey guys! No excuse for this late update except for laziness. Next one will hopefully be up within a week. HOpe you enjoy the chapter!**

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 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

I glance across the table at Tag, who is slowly applying butter to his waffles covered in strawberries and blueberries. I raise my eyebrow at him, but he's too wrapped up in his own world to notice. I shove a bite smothered with syrup into my mouth, chewing obnoxiously to try to get his attention, but he simply continues to stare at his plate. In the kitchen, I can hear the escort complaining to the Avoxes about something, the television playing in the living room. The voice of Caesar Flickerman is familiar, but he's on some talk show that doesn't air in District Eight, some woman's laugh shrilly echoing into the dining room.

"That butter good with your fruit?" I ask loudly.

Tag looks up, startled. His eyes slowly focus on my face. "Yes… sorry, Flux. How is your training going?"

"Fine," I say, taking another bite and following it up with chocolate milk. Imagine that… milk, but chocolate. Who would have thought? "Thimble doesn't want to do any weapons training, but that's fine. I can do it on my own. But I really need to focus on camoflauge."

"Camouflage?" he asks skeptically.

"I'm a painter back home. Graphic artist."

"You're the one who's always painting those pictures of the mayor," he says, sounding somewhere between disgust and pride.

"That's my partner, Kaine." I smile at the thought of his concentrated face when he paints a controversial piece. "I'm the one that does the flowers."

Tag grunts out a begrudging laugh. "Well, that might come in handy."

I lean forward across the table. "Do you really think so? Because… I think we should have some more time to talk about strategy."

Tag smiles a little. It's the most emotion I've seen from him in the few days I've known him. "That sounds like a good idea."

"I remember you making those traps in the Games last year. Do you think you teach me how to do that?"

His face falls a little, and he turns downs to his breakfast again. "The trainers can help you with that. But if you need anything more specific, I can help you."  
Disappointed, I take another swig from my cup. "Fine. I'm going to go get Thimble."

I pass by my own room and move on to Thimble's, knocking on the door. He took a long time to get ready yesterday morning too. I have a feeling he's enjoying the Capitolite luxury. "Thimble!" I yell when he doesn't answer. I can faintly hear the sound of the shower running inside, probably drowning out every other sound in the apartment. I huff and consider screaming louder for him, but then I hear another noise coming from behind the door. It's Thimble's voice, gentle and lilting as he sings a song I've never heard before. It's nice, a complicated melody that he carries easily. I haven't heard him so carefree before. I lean up against the door for a moment, listening intently, before walking away.

I enter the dining room again, where Tag is staring out of the window, his gaze completely absent. The Capitol is still asleep and probably will be for hours. His eyes lift to me when I enter. "Where's Thimble?"

"Still showering."

I sit back at the table, sighing and putting my feet on the table, ignoring the pointed glare of the escort. "So, what about those specifics?"

After a few minutes of going over the logistics of finding a shelter and how to avoid other tributes, Thimble trudges into the room with wet hair and a composed face. "Good morning," he says meekly.

"Good morning, Thimble," Tag says. "We've been talking about skills Flux can bring into the arena with her. What do you think you have to offer?"

Thimble silently sips on a black cup of coffee offered to him by an Avox. "Well… I know how to use a knife."

"That's good," Tag says, taking another bite of food.

"How long did you live on the street?" I ask him, leaning back in my chair. "Did you learn anything else?"

Thimble looks down at me, eyes flickering with something akin to irritation, but it disappears quickly. "A couple years. That's before I went to the Red."

I frown, the name pulling at some memory deep in my brain. "I know that place. That club?"

"Yes," Thimble says shortly, not looking at me.

"Everything has its lessons," Tag says. I suddenly realize how strange this is considering he's younger than both of us. But his eyes are dark and heavy with experience beyond his years.

"Thank you, Tag," Thimble says, staring at his coffee. He doesn't exactly look reassured, if anything he seems annoyed. But he doesn't comment on it anymore and sits down to eat the breakfast the Avoxes set in front of him.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

Farhoud and I head for the weapons as soon as the elevator doors open. Leto and Cyprian are already at the swords, chests heaving as they spin around each other with clear precision and practiced footwork, their blades clashing together loudly. Leto pants as she goes for Cyprian's ankles, and he manages to step away but falters on his feet, almost falling and giving Leto an in, but she's too far to the ground to take it. She tries pulling him forward and Cyprian manages to draw his sword up to her neck, where it would be driven inside.

Leto smirks, pants, and lets him go. He nearly falls to the ground, but catches himself and stumbles for a moment before straightening up again. He pulls on the bottom of his shirt and huffs out a breath. "Great job, Leto."

"You're a tough one to beat," Leto says evenly, taking a drink of water.

"We'll see about that!" Farhoud bellows, grabbing a nearby machete and jumping into the ring with Cyprian. The redhead immediately gripes his sword harder and dives into the fight. Farhoud laughs his way through the swings of his weapon and I roll my eyes.

I glance over at the other tributes waiting in line, no one even trying to stop Farhoud from cutting in front of them. The pair from Six are standing with the boy from Five, the boys muttering together while the girl stands with her arms crossed and scowls at the brawling Careers. If the three of them are allied together, we should watch out for them. They're all older and the boys are tall, and I've seen them use the swords before. We need to be aware of possible threats.

"Ugh." I look over to Passion, who is brushing dust off of her pitch black training suit. "I'm ready for the interviews," she spits out, stalking over to me. "What do you think?"

I give her a stunning grin. "I like it here. But I'm looking forward to my interview. What kind of dress do you want them to dress you in?'

Her eyes narrow for a moment and I worry I've asked the wrong thing. She gives me a venomous smile and sneers, "Well, I sure hope they'll give me a shitty Capitol dress. Or maybe a fishing net they made in Four. Not a gown that my father's company made."  
The familiar sensation of anger fills my chest, and I can feel redness crawling up my chest and neck. I remember the words of the doctor my parents force me to go to. _Breathe in, breathe out. Remember why you're here_.

"Oh, sorry," I squeak, fluttering my eyelashes perfectly. "I forgot about your dad. I'm sure the dress will be beautiful."

"It will be," Passion says, turning away and stomping to the knife station.

I let out the breathe I was holding while I spoke, imagining the anger leaving my body along with it. I may have avoided losing it this time, but I can feel the need for destruction bubbling under my skin. The few scars I have on my thighs burn, my knuckles burn with the need to punch something. If I was back in Four right now, I would be searching for my boyfriend Reggie to vent using our bodies, or if he wasn't anywhere to be found, the nearest boy regardless of who he is. I managed to convince my parents that I could hold it together for a couple days until the Games star when I can finally let loose with violence. Now all I have to do in convince myself.

As I move toward the bladed batons, I hear someone yelling and for a second I wonder if my mind has left my body like it has a few times before and that I'm actually screaming in rage. But then I realize the voice isn't my own, but someone from over in the knife station. I back up and look over to where Passion is standing over the girl from Eight, whose face is screwed up with anger.

"Get out of my face and get back in line!" she shouts. "I don't care who your dad is! Little pale spoiled brat with no mind of your own! Run back to your slave and complain to him so that you don't have to do anything yourself!"

The words have a venom to them that remind me of myself when i'm going through a spout of anger. An earby trainer tries to pull her away from a flummoxed Passion and an anxious Callum, who waits nervously at the edge of the knives section.

"Snake bitch!" The girl spits, practically foaming with rage. Her ally grabs onto her beside the trainer and they both pull her back farther, dragging her feet against the floor. Her district partner sits her down at the camouflage station and starts speaking to her in a low voice, frowning in disapproval. I look over to Passion, who simply flips her hair and scoffs.

"Ugh. Imagine thinking that would hurt me."

But I can tell she's at least a little affected, her green eyes flickering around the training center as if to see who was watching. She stalks to where Farhoud and Cyprian have stopped fighting to stare. Farhoud grins and tries to tackle him again, and Cyprian wiggles out from underneath him, bewildered.

"Next time don't cut in line," Leto calls over from where she's practicing with the whip. She cracks it once as Passion passes her to get to the maces. The air is tense. Leave it to the nobody girl from Eight of all people to cause tension in the alliance. But I know deep down that even if Passion and Callum turn out to be a trainwreck, I won't leave them behind. What other choice does a girl like me have, trained for this since I was thirteen?

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

I watch as the guy from Nine swings around a scythe with some accuracy, the sharp edge slicing through the target in front of him, the point sticking into another one. That's a weapon I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of.

"Do people really still use scythes in Nine?" I call over to him, and he stops to glare at me, eyes looking me up and down.

"We don't get a lot of motorized things down there," he says, placing the scythe back on its rack.

"We don't either in Eleven, but the Peacekeepers would never give us something we could use as a weapon like that."

He leaves the training stage, still gazing at me suspiciously. "We're too busy working in the fields to feed our families to think about anything else."

So he's going to take some kind of righteous high road. That's fine- not what I expected from probing another young boy from an outer district, but it's interesting to say the least. "Is that how you learned to use it? Feeding your family?"

He scoffs and looks away, scoping out other open weapon stations. "Well, that's the only thing that matters, isn't it?"

He walks off before I can respond, and leaves me a little lost. He's clearly not one for conversation, but sometimes those people can be the most fun. Apparently not this time. I've talked to most of the male tributes and a few of the females since training started, most of them at least somewhat interesting, a few not willing to talk at all. But I can tell I won't be trying to talk to that Nine guy again.

It's my turn for the knife-throwing station. The guy's district partner, the strange girl with the fiery hair and even stranger tattoos visible on her shoulders and arms, doesn't even give me a glance as she passes, seeming caught up in her own little world. The trainer's smile to me is strained, looking after her as if stressed she'll come back.

"Nine people are weird," I conclude, and he gives me a small smile, leading me to the knives.

After spending some time working on my aim, feeling the weight of each knife in my hand and the sensing the distance between me and my target. I can imagine the knife burying itself in an opponent, watching them fall to the ground with blood streaming from their wound. I grin a little to myself. It's not that I like blood, but it's amusing to think about the death of some innocent child being taken from them in a grand joke like the Hunger Games. Of course, my own death wouldn't exactly be such a joke… I wouldn't call myself innocent.

I reach into my pocket and clutch my grandmother's old rosemary earring, thinking of all the times I wished for her death, for her to disappear and for everyone in our rickety old house to go away and leave me to myself. Now that I'm alone, i can't help but wonder if I actually had this coming…

I hear a loud clatter from the obstacle course and look over to see that Luna has fallen from the highest point… but then she rolls and stands back up, looking pleased with herself. She didn't fall at all, but just jumped. As she proudly leaves the obstacle course and makes her way to the plant station, where the trainer greets her with familiarity, I realize that despite her age, Luna isn't going to lie back and let death take her. And she might have a greater chance too, considering last year's winner was a twelve-year old. I conjure up promotional images of Tag Nylon and his crossbow, and watch Luna eagerly absorb as much information as she can from the plants station.

I find myself walking toward her and sitting down beside her. She gives me a strange look of surprise and disgust, scooting a little farther away.

"Relax," I say, crossing my legs. "Just here to learn about plants. So which one is nightlock?"

As the trainer continues teaching both of us, I can tell that Luna is disturbed by my presence, as if I'm a tumor that's somehow tainting her training experience. That is, until the final identification test comes and I manage to pull off a nearly perfect score. Hers is high as well, thanks to life in District Eleven, but even the trainer is impressed with my knowledge.

"We should try traps next," I say to Luna as we stand up and begin to part ways. She looks back at me over her shoulder, olive green eyes narrowing.

"Why?" she asks. "I thought I was stupid for being afraid of death."

I chuckle as I remember our conversation in our chariot. "I stand by that, but I still don't want to see you killed by some idiot just because you didn't know how to make hide or tie a knot or something. That would be the ultimate joke."

She doesn't look convinced, but glances over to the trap-making station. "I saw you making traps yesterday," she says. "If you teach me, I'll teach you how to climb."

"Fair enough."

 _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F_

I pant in exertion as I finish the obstacle course, squatting down for a second before straightening up again. I glance at the clock- a fairly good time, though I will need some more practice. I need to make sure I'm the most agile I can be in order to evade the Careers. Unfortunately they haven't shown any interest in me, though I would of course agree to be in their alliance if they asked. But the big guy from Four is preoccupied with the brat from One, and the guys from Two and One don't seem to have any interest at all in anything except their training. As such, I'll have to limit my options to the other untrained tributes.

I scan the weapon section, where the guy from Ten is fiercely swinging a sword, chopping several dummies in half in a handful of swings. He seems like a good option, possibly craving any notice that isn't from jealous Careers. As I approach him, I try to imagine what kind of person would grab his attention- probably someone serious but helpless, someone he could help. He seems like the type to want to be a savior.

I arrive at the weapons and pick up a curved machete and begin inexpertly slicing up a small target in front of me, wondering if he'll take notice. Unfortunately he simply continues on his imaginary killing spree, ignoring me completely. Or perhaps he doesn't even realize that I'm here.

I back up a little until our backs touch, and I jump backward as if surprised. He turns around to glance at me, lowering his blade. "I'm sorry," I say. "I lost my balance."

"It's fine." He turns back to his dummy and gets back to work. So much for that.

I spend a little while longer there, actually practicing a bit, disappointed when he still refuses to acknowledge my presence. I may have to go in a different direction. I skim the room, noticing that Volt is now sitting with the Six pair, just as he did yesterday. He's made it clear he doesn't want to ally with me, but the other two seem welcoming, especially the guy. Maybe i could even work some of my charm on him. What other choices do I have? The others are either too solitary or too weird- I glance over at where the tall girl from Ten with short hair throws a spear half-heartedly, belly laughing when it misses its mark. Where the redhead from Nine smacks a dummy with a wooden staff, her eyes set and determined but somehow disturbing. To the pair from Twelve who would seem a good choice if the girl didn't give me dirty looks every time I got too close. Or the pair from Seven who I know will be dead within an hour of the Games' beginning.

I quietly approach Volt and his new allies where they're studying how to make fires. The girl, whose name I believe is Pagani, strikes a firestone and sparks fly as I sit down beside her. She startles and I hear Volt scoff.

"Get out of here, Rai."

"I'm just trying to learn how to make a fire," I say with dismay. "You've been here for so long, you can at least let me try."

"There's no harm in it, Volt," the other guy says, and he gives me a kind smile. "She can have the trainer and we can learn on our own."  
Jackpot. "You seem to already know so much, do you think you can teach me?"

"Well, you should have the trainer teach you the basics," he says politely, giving me another gratuitous smile before turning away and huddling together with Volt and Pagani as she tries again on the firestone. Maybe I didn't get lucky after all.

I sigh as I begin my own fire-starting training, as if I didn't get my fill yesterday. I manage to make several easy fires with the stone and even one with only some twigs, and I move on to the net and trap making station, where the pair from Eleven eye me uneasily as they produce simple rabbit-catching traps. It seems I have a mark on me that say I'm untrustworthy. Perhaps it's my good looks- my friend Ciera always says that people hate the prettiest girl in the room, and I've experienced such jealousy many times during my escapades to the Capitol. People naturally think I'm an airhead or that I have nothing to offer to an alliance. Maybe to grab someone's attention I need to work on my strengths rather than try to make someone pity me or protect me.

I resolutely march toward the obstacle course, rolling my shoulders as I eye the scrawny guy from Three shimmy up a rope. He manages to make it, panting hard as he leans his head back. I wait for my turn with my eyebrows set, for once not caring if anyone else was watching. When my turn comes, I jump up and down a few times as a warm-up, then barrel my way through. I climb up the short rock wall, leap down, swing across the gap with a rope, then quickly run through a set of soft obstacles and end up at the rope climb. I make it to the top with my best time yet. I smile to myself despite the sweat beading on my forehead that probably makes me look gross.

Maybe I don't need anyone else to win these Hunger Games. I've depended on other people for so long… first the Care Home, then Sinclair… but who really made all that money and charmed all those people? It was me, after all. Sinclair provided me a bridge to the Capitol, but I'm the one that took the chance and made the best of it.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

My mentor's words ring in my ears from this morning, when I ranted to him about the stupid Careers and how the Capitol feels so entitled to our lives, taking me away from the fields that they force me to work in and my own family to die here instead for their entertainment. _Use that anger in the arena_.

I feel the anger burning just underneath my skin, bubbling up like a slow-boiling pot of water. I toss another knife, feeling pride flood my veins as it makes a solid stick in the target's arm. Not an amazing shot, but enough to incapacitate someone if they were barrelling toward me.

"Great job!" the trainer exclaims, handing me another knife. "This time, breathe in and out while you're trying to aim. Don't hold your breath."

I do as he says, but I only wish to get back to the scythes. I'm more familiar with them after all, and they're long enough that I might not need a long-distance weapon such as this anyway. I can only hope that I'll get my hands on a scythe, which the Gamemakers will put inside the golden horn after seeing me use one in my private sessions. And I can't stand being around this stupid Capitolite any longer, with his ridiculous tattooed on eyebrows and slicked back hair.

I finish my training with the knives and hurry back to the scythes, glaring at the trainer to keep them away. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, drawing up my anger, not just against my imagined enemy but against the Capitol, the stupid escort that laughs at me every morning, the mayor in District Nine who passes laws saying no one can work full time in the fields until they're eighteen even though the families might not have any other choice to buy food to survive. The Peacekeeper who killed my father when I was a child.

I feel the scythe in my palms, the weight of the blade on the end as I gently move it back and forth. I open my eyes and thrust it forward, slicking open a dummy and twisting it in my hand expertly, cutting off another's head before slicing the knees of another away from the legs. I straighten up from my crouching position, breathing hard. I shake the dark hair out of my face and turn to see the trainer smiling at me uneasily. If only the Peacekeeper was here who shot my father in the head in the fields. I'd like to see the look on his face when I cut open his throat, red blood gushing from the wound. My hand tightens around the scythe and I get back to work on more dummies.

The bell rings soon after for lunch. As we all single file into the cafeteria, I keep my head down and quietly sit alone at a small table, munching on my sandwich. My mind wanders to Kaia, her freckled face and tan skin with dark hair pulled into a ponytail, her sweet smile as she prods me into having a conversation. I remember the feeling of her lips on mine just before the Peacekeepers pulled her away. I have to get back to her no matter what.

Suddenly I realize where most of my anger might actually be stemming from. I've spent my whole life wishing to get closer to Kaia, and now this was the situation that caused her to kiss me. Now I might never get to see her again.

I glance over at Blossom, who is also sitting alone eating her own lunch with unfocused eyes and fingers rapping against the table. She never seems completely calm, even as she ignores others or is seemingly polite to them. I suppose I can relate in a way.

I notice that the guy from Five is now sitting with the pair from Six. It seems alliances are starting to form, and they might even be looking for more if their eyes skimming the room are any indication. The girl eyes' flicker over to me, and I quickly look away. I'm not looking for any alliances. Ever since my father was killed, I've survived and managed on my own. I'll make it back home by myself too.

The Careers are being loud as usual, the guy from Four bellowing with laughter, hand clapping on the shoulder of the guy from One. He winces and scoots away. They ignore everyone else around them, except for the pair from Two who glance at the guy from Ten, sitting alone at his own little table, stuffing his face at an almost disturbing pace. I barely have an appetite, yet he's asking for another sandwich.

The only other tributes sitting alone are his district partner from Ten, the pair from Three who also sit apart, and the girl from Five. Everyone else is with their district partner. All of us are sitting with our heads down, silently eating as quickly as possible like a nervous horse who is looking to flee at any moment. But I know that the only way is through, no matter how much I might hate it.

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

The other Careers are rowdy, but I can't say I didn't expect it. Even in Two, most of the other trainees could get on my nerves at times. But after spending a whole day with my allies, I can say with certainty that I'm not very fond of them, not that it matters. They'll be dead eventually, so in a way I'm grateful that I won't be sorry to see them go.

Regardless, I know that I need them to survive. They're all strong, even Callum, though his aim isn't the best, and we'll work well together to go far in the Games. I sit beside Callum and Marlowe, Cyprian across from me. I meet his eyes briefly and we share a glance. Farhoud is playfully harassing Callum, but I feel Marlowe squirming uncomfortably beside me. When I look over to her, she gives me a golden grin. Her yellow hair shines in the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. Her teeth are perfectly white.

"You'd think they'd get us better food for training," she says, scrunching her nose up exaggeratedly.

"It's food for strength," I say simply. "Not taste. We have that every morning and night."

"I suppose..." she says, trailing off and turning back to her food. She glances nervously across the table at Passion, who is inspecting her food with clear disgust as usual. She's been even more unbearable since the girl from Eight told her off this morning. I drown out whatever she starts complaining about as Cyprian stands up, mouthing _bathroom_ at me as he leaves.

I continue eating for a few minutes, and the guy from Five also gets up from his table with the pair from Six. My mind wanders to the guy from Ten, Jeremy, and how we could convince him to join our alliance. I know my current allies are strong, but we would be unstoppable with an extra outer district tribute who can handle a sword like he can. Careers with extra members are always the strongest groups, and he's a monster.

Cyprian returns not long after, as does the guy from Five not far behind him. He speeds up and accidentally steps on Cyprian's shoe. Cyprian turns around sharply, eyebrows raised in offense.

"Be careful," he says lowly.

"Sorry," the guy says, seeming truly contrite. He gives him a polite smile and sits down beside his allies. Cyprian scoffs and sits down in front of me again, his cheeks a little uncharacteristically pink.

"You should show that guy what's up," Farhoud roars, trying to stand up. Callum puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him down.

"It's fine," Cyprian says. "We're not allowed to fight before the Games."

"I didn't know you were such a squeaky-clean guy, Cyprian," Farhoud says, but he doesn't seem truly upset.

Cyprian glances up quickly, then back down to his food. No one else seems to think it's strange, but I watch as he glances behind him where the guy from Five is sitting and back again at his food. He seems weirdly flustered, but I decide not to say anything.

The bell rings for us to go back to training, and we all slowly rearrange ourselves into a line and head back to the weapons station. I immediately head to the whips. I've spent the morning working on spears and swords, and I want to make sure I'll be on my best game with whips for the private session.

I grab one of the only two whips the training center has stocked, gently flicking it once for the satisfying sound. "Cyprian, do you want to spar with me?" I ask, nodding toward the swords. "I need practice against a bladed weapon." I'm an expert at dodging arrows and knives and getting people from farther away, a skill I'll expect I'll use due to the number of tributes practicing with knives and even the girl from Three focusing on the crossbow. But I need to touch up my experience with fighting large bladed weapons.

"I'm going to the plants station," he says simply. He's never one for talking, but again there's something strange about the color of his face and the way he looks away from my eyes.

"Alright, whatever," I say. He leaves without another word, heading to the plants while the other tributes watch him wearily.

"I'll fight you, Leto," Marlowe says, sidling up to me with a bladed baton gleaming in the light.

I give her a friendly smile and lead her to the sparring course, where we both crouch down before the trainer blows his whistle. Marlowe lunges toward me and I pull back, cracking the whip and dodging the jab of her baton. I crouch as she swipes the blade right above me and the whip reaches out toward her ankles. It tries to curl around them, but she steps away and brings down the baton to my neck and I curl away just in time. I bounce back up, cracking the whip just as the baton slices through the air. The whip wraps around the blade and pulls it out of her hands. It clatters against the floor, and I smirk.

"That was quick," Farhoud calls from the javelins.

Marlowe looks disappointed, but I pull the baton up into my hands with the whip and hand it back to her. "Just work on your balance," I say.

 _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_

I spin my dad's wedding around my finger nervously as I wait for my turn at the axes. The girl from One successfully tosses a large axe over her head, the head of the target splitting open. The trainer smiles at her and waves her away, to which she huffs and stomps to the maces, where she hefts up a spiked one and marches on a dummy.

"Next!" the trainer waves me forward. I give him a polite smile, knowing that everything about him was just an act. I pick up a small hatchet, feeling its familiar weight in my hands. I decide I should work on my hand to hand combat first, and nod to the trainer to fight me.

"Remember your footwork," he says. I'm surprised he even remembers our sessions yesterday. I balance on my heels and plant down, holding the hatchet steadily in my hands. The trainer grabs a knife from the knife station and gets in a similar position before slowly approaching me. I circle along with him, trying to find an opening. He's much bigger than me, bigger than any of the other tributes aside from the guy Careers… but I might actually have to fight them. I have to prepare for every possibility, even if it makes my stomach twist.

The trainer lunges forward and tries to slice me, and I jump away, trying to remember my proper footwork. If I'm fighting a Career in the arena, they'll have their technique down so that it's practically second nature. I'll need to remember my own if I'm going to stand a chance against them.

I regain my balance, knowing that the trainer is giving me a couple seconds to right myself again. Then I grip the hatchet tighter and jolt forward, advancing with slash after slash that force the trainer back to the edge of the mat. He parries one lunge with his knife and manages to push the hatchet away, jabbing forward with the knife. I jolt backward and barely avoid getting nicked by the blunt knife. I struggle to stay on my feet as the trainer now advances toward me, knife flashing through the air. I almost fall over backward trying to get away, but I manage to bring my hatchet up to stop the knife with a clang, using all my strength to keep the knife away from my throat. I parry it away and back up as fast as I can, breathing hard.

The trainer grins at me in a way that probably supposed to be reassuring, but looks maniacal. He steps forward again and I decide to rush him, running forward with my hatchet raised and bringing it down to his chest. He barely manages to block my blow with the knife, but I've caught him by surprise. He pushes me away and grins at me, this time with clear pride.

"You've definitely gotten better!" he says. "Want to go again?"

"I think I'm going to throw some now," I say, trying not to show how out of breath I am. Pride courses through my veins as I step up the targets. They slowly start moving slowly back and forth, lights blinking. I take a few moments to take some deep breaths, imagining that the targets are the rest of the Careers who are looking for their fallen companion. Just like with the Reaping, I have to prepare for the worst. I know if it's possible that I'll fight a Career, then it will definitely happen.

I take in a deep breath and heft the hatchet over my shoulder before letting it fly. The blade bounces off the target and doesn't stick, my heart sinking. The Careers would be alerted of my presence and I would have to run without my weapon.

I pick up another axe, this one larger. I feel its weight in my hands, over my shoulder, as the blade flies away from me. It sticks into the chest of a target, and I whoop for joy, then quiet down immediately, glancing around to make sure no one else saw me. My eyes meet with the girl from Six, who is with her allies at the swords station. Her eyes are sharp but not unfriendly, as if analyzing my activities.

I give her a small smile before steeling my face, realizing I should seem strong and emotionless. Surprisingly she returns it, wandering away from her allies to the axes. "My name's Pagani," she says. Her dark hair is in a braid down her back, blue eyes alert and inspecting me.

"Dylan," I say, extending a hand for her to shake. She takes it quietly, her hand strong but not overly so.

"I've been watching you with these axes," she says, glancing over at her allies, who have noticed that she's wandered off. Both of them are tall older boys like me, looking over at me with a mixture of suspicion and interest.

"I can hold my own," I say, hunching my shoulders. "I've seen you with a knife as well. And your partners."

"Would you like to meet them?" she asks, gesturing over to them. "We can practice with swords together."

"Alright," I say quietly.

She walks off without looking to see if I'm following. I set down my next axe and follow in her footsteps, smiling politely at the allies as we approach. Perhaps I won't have to fight the Careers alone when the time comes.

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

I slash at another dummy as the allies on the other side of the sword station congregate together, whispering and muttering about something or another. None of them seem like cruel people, but I know that if they are truly allying then they might be a force to be reckoned with. I've seen them fighting with bladed weapons.

I glance over at the Careers who are still around the stranger weapons and the spears. The girl from One hacks away at the mace station, her strong arms and lithe body obvious in the light. The large guy from Four throws a javelin with deadly accuracy, his district partner spinning around a sharp bladed baton with perfect footwork. Yesterday, the girl from Two asked me to join their alliance, something I can't say I didn't see coming. And I can't deny that my chances would be greatly improved if I joined them, but I know that the other tributes would hate me for it and make me a target. Caiden definitely wouldn't be happy and I wouldn't hear the end of it back in our apartment. If I'm going to join, I need to wait until tomorrow.

"Hey."

I turn around sharply, lifting my sword up in defense. The guys backed away warily, but neither of them look afraid. Both sets of blue eyes watch me attentively, but both smiling.

"What?" I ask shortly, wanting to return to my training. I need to have the best slashing ability if I'm going to fight the Careers eventually, whether we end up allying or not. I can't rely completely on spears, even if the thought of actually fighting someone up close makes my stomach turn. This is what I tried to avoid by escaping One… and yet here I am.

The boys exchange a look before focusing on me again. "We were wondering if you would consider joining our alliance," the one from Six says. He gives me a friendly smile, gesturing to the two people behind them- his district partner and the guy from Three, who are watching with curious eyes.

"I'm not looking for an alliance, sorry," I say, turning back to the dummy.

"Not even the Careers?" the guy from Five asks suddenly. I sigh and turn back to him. He continues, "You know now that you've rejected them, you've become a target."

"And you want that target in your alliance?"

"We could offer protection. And help," the guy from Six jumps in. "My name's Logan, and this is Volt. We'd just like to have your talents on our side, and we can all help each other survive. An alliance to rival the Careers."

Volt smiles in a way that I can tell is meant to emulate the one Logan gave me earlier. Friendly, non-threatening. They clearly want me in their alliance very badly, and I can't say I blame them. I know I'm the best with weapons here outside of the Careers, but I wonder if they would feel the same way about me and still want to ally with me if they knew I used to be a citizen of One. If I was a Career myself just a few years ago.

"I'm very flattered," I say. "But I'm not interested. It's not personal."

Their faces fall, but gather their composure quickly. "Can't we try to change your mind?" Logan asks. "I've seen you fight, I know you probably want to make sure your allies are on your same level, not just burdens that drag you down. Why don't you come see Pagani and I fight and then you can decide?"

"I've already decided," I say firmly. "Like I said, it isn't personal."  
"Do you really think you'll have a better chance on your own?" Volt asks abruptly. "Then you must only be gifted in the weapons region and not have a brain."

Logan gives him a weird look and nudges him with his shoulder. "What my ally is trying to say is… we'll all benefit from an alliance."

"Then benefit from the one you already have," I say simply, turning back around to hack at the dummy again, unbothered by the sighs of disappointment behind me. Not long after they leave, the bell rings for the end of the day.

The tributes all fall into line at the elevator, Caiden standing silently beside me, examining her cuticles. She doesn't seem to be taking her training extremely seriously, but she also isn't stressing about it. Maybe she'll actually be able to pull this off if she manages not to worry about it.

Our ride to our apartment is silent as well, and I feel the tell-tale signs of fear creeping up inside me. I've been able to push them back and ignore them during training, but when I go back to our apartment and spend time alone in my bedroom, or with the victors who are supposed to help us kill others, my heart constricts again. I really thought I could escape from this fate, but it's come for me all the same. It's like the Capitol secretly knows what I did, escaped from One, and pulled me back here as a punishment. This city has a life of its own, a pulsing electronic heart that beats through the televisions and wires above the city, the store window lights.

"Are you okay, Jeremy?"

I'm dragged out of my thoughts by my mentor's concerned words. The mentors, the escort, and Caiden are all staring at me across the dinner table, which is laden with beef and gravy, fresh fruits of all kinds and mashed potatoes, and some strange seafood that I've never heard of before. "What?" I ask, probably too defensively.

"We asked if you are planning on having any alliances," the escort says primly. "Caiden… isn't interested."

"Damn right," Caiden says with her mouth full. "I can do this all on my own."

"Well, I admire your confidence," I say. "The Careers asked me to join them."

The table immediately falls silent. Then Caiden drones, "And you told them no."

"What?!" the escort jumps up. "Jeremy, how could you? This could be the best opportunity Ten has for a victor in years!"

"What am I then, just a piece of meat?" Caiden spits out.

"Caiden, why don't you leave so we can have a conversation with Jeremy on our own," my mentor says. She storms off with her own mentor, who is trying to console her the best she can.

"I want you gone, too," he says to the escort, who scoffs but does as she's told. Suddenly the two of us are alone at the table. I nervously take a sip of rich milk and meet his eyes.

"I'm thinking of joining them," I say. "But I didn't want to make myself a target for the others."

"Why did the Careers approach you?" he asks, examining me closely.

"I'm good with a spear," I say simply. "And not bad with a sword either."

"How? I thought you were the son of a townie butcher. Before that you were homeless."  
"Actually," I hesitate. "I learned it from my parents. My real parents."  
"And who are they?" he seems genuinely curious, and I feel suddenly guilty about dropping such a secret like this onto him.

"Jackson and Ruby Carroway," I say, and watch as his eyes widen.

* * *

 **Leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter! What do you think of the alliances, the interactions, the training? Who do you think has the biggest chances of winning? Thanks so much for reading!**


	19. Training: Day Three

**Hey guys! Again, sorry for the late update. I've been busier than I thought this summer. Hope you enjoy the final chapter of training!**

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 _Raven Lavallee (17)- D7M_

 _Sparrow!_

I jerk awake, breath coming quickly. My eyes snap open to stare at the dark ceiling of my bedroom, illuminated only by the lights streaming in through the window. It seems the Capitol never sleeps, and the noise has been keeping me awake, and when I do sleep, the nightmares come. I sigh as images of Sparrow being speared to death by a Career flashes behind my eyelids. I try to turn over and go back to sleep, knowing I'll need all the energy I can get for the last day of training. But I end up laying awake for the rest of the night until morning sunlight appear in the window.

The escort raps her knuckles on the door and I groan, pulling the blanket over my head for a moment before finally standing up. Despite our situation, I want to spend as much time as I can with Sparrow.

She's sitting out with Johanna at the table eating breakfast, Johanna smirking at my little sister as she spoons some Capitol cereal into her mouth. I sit beside her at my plate of waffles topped with berries and whipped cream. My mouth waters at the fresh berries, which are a delicacy in Seven, let alone ones from Eleven which were grown in nurseries. The waffles melt in my mouth as I bite into them.

"Sleep well?" Johanna asks, her arm draped over the chair beside her. "I heard you talking to yourself last night."

"Must have been in my sleep," I say, glancing at Sparrow, who avoids my eyes. She must have heard it too.

"How's training coming along?" Johanna asks, shoving half of a waffle into her mouth at once. "Making any alliances?"

"I think we're planning on going it alone," I say dismissively.

"Well, I can't say I expected anything different in your condition," Johanna says flippantly. I can tell she's been upset that I volunteered instead of letting the Reaped boy have stab at the crown. She seems to realize that I don't stand much of a chance.

"I think you're underestimating us," Sparrow pips up. "We've been training a lot, and I'm getting pretty good at using knives. And Raven already knows how to use an axe."

Johanna turns to her, wide brown eyes narrowing at her. "Everyone in Seven knows how to use an axe. We need something else that makes you two stand out from the other twenty-two in the band of idiots. You have a nice _heart-warming_ story, but people will only care if you have a chance of winning."

"Like everyone thought you would win?" I ask hotly, glaring at her over the table. "A bit hypocritical of you."

Johanna stares at me for a moment, then the corner of her lip curls up in a slight smirk. "Fiery. That's good, use that in your interview. And your big brother voice when you talk about your sister."

The change in conversation gives me whiplash, but I meet her eyes and nod.

"And Sparrow, remember to hype him up. He's your protector, your saviour, blah blah blah. You can't live without each other, got it?"

We both nod, Sparrow's eyes wide but determined as she absorbs all of the information. I know she's going to make the Capitol love her, just like she does with everyone.

We finish our breakfast quickly, thoughts running through my mind about our strategy for the bloodbath and the rest of the Games, how we're going to find food and how to survive a fight with the other tributes. For the first time since the Reaping, I feel a glimmer of hope that Sparrow might make it out of the arena. I won't but I can make sure that she does.

"Raven."

Johanna's voice follows Sparrow and I as we head toward the elevator. I turn in surprise, focusing in on the tube in her hand.

"I ordered some medicine for you," she says matter-of-factly. "I could have got some for you earlier if you asked for it. I had to convince the Gamemakers it was a long-standing condition from before the Reaping, and you need it to be able to compete."

I'm shocked, so bewildered that she would take so much time to help me when I'm obviously not making it out of the arena.

"Thank you," I say, taking the tube and unscrewing it, downing a pill and wincing at the tug at my throat.

"Take another one before going to bed too," Johanna says. "And find an alliance. Do it for your sister."

There's a glint in her eye that tells me she's being genuine.

"I will," I say. "And thank you, Johanna."

"What can I say," she shrugs. "You're not the worst tributes who've slept in this apartment. And I've seen quite a few since the 71st Games." She sizes me up, the gleam in her eye sparkling as she crosses her arms across her chest.

The image of Johanna, standing triumphantly over her final opponent comes unbidden to my mind, axehead tangled in guts and her hair dripping blood. Everyone in Seven regards her as a hero, the legend that tricked the system and used her brains as well as signature Seven brawn to win the Games. Sparrow and I are lucky to have her as a mentor.

"Thank you," I say.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

As Leto and I head toward the swords, ready to practice sparring for the last time before she devotes the rest of her day to working with the whips, I glance nervously around the training center. My heart jumps into my throat when I catch sight of Volt from Five at the plants station with his allies, the number of which are growing. His dark hair a sharp contrast against his pale skin in the harsh lighting of the room. He glances up as we pass, and I might be imagining it, but I swear I notice a small smirk on his face as he fixates on me. I turn away sharply and focus forward, where Leto is advancing to the swords.

As she swings one in front of her, getting a feel for the weight, I try to put yesterday's encounter with Volt out of my mind. The sounds of Farhoud and Passion bantering in the background helps me ground myself, as well as Marlowe watching us silently from the batons with a grin, her golden hair glowing. I'm lucky that no one was there to witness my blushed cheeks and stuttering words when Volt and I had a conversation in the bathroom, his charisma a complete opposite of the shameful nervousness I displayed. Careers are supposed to be strong, silent, and uncaring, exactly what Garrison taught me over the years.

"Are you there, Cyprian?" I hear Leto call icily from across the ring. I snap back into reality and grab the nearest sword, a greatsword with a heavy blade. My biceps bulge as I lift it up, squatting into place. Leto rolls forward with her smaller sword, catching me off guard as I barely parry her, but I manage to force her backward with my blows, my feet hitting each mark precisely, just as I practiced all those years in Two.

I bring down a heavy blow to her chest, and she barely blocks it with her smaller blade, grunting with the effort as she pushes me away. She's panting, but so am I. The sword is heavier than I'm used to, but I try not to let it on, thought the thought of having my district partner beat me in a battle with my specialty weapon makes my heart beat even faster with embarrassment. Leto's brown eyes darken as she rolls forward again tries to go for my legs, and I almost lose my balance before bringing my sword to her back just before she can get to me. The blade crashes against her spine and sends her sprawling to the ground, but when he rises again she's wearing a grim smile.

"You're a great swordsman, Cyprian," she says. "I wouldn't want to be on the other end of a sharp blade of yours."

"Thanks," I say gruffly, as Marlowe winks at me from the side of the ring. I leave the sparring area to go fight against a dummy, where Callum is already taking his time with advanced fighting maneuvers.

I practice with him silently for a while, thankful that he's not much of a talker like Leto and I. Farhoud, Marlowe, and Passion are all chattering together at the other weapons, the thuds of their throws hitting home filling my ears. Eventually Callum moves on to the crossbow after the big-haired girl from Three finally leaves, her face proud but calculated as she glances around the room with aloofness. She meets my eyes and gives me an uneasy smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes. I stare back at her without emotion before returning to my training. As I repeat the footwork and blade movements over and over again, maneuvers that have been burned into my brain since I was six, my mind is working around the other stations. I dutifully recite the names of safe and poisonous plants, how to wrap and treat a wound, how to tie certain knots, how to escape traps, how to detect nearby animals. I mentally run through every arena that's been occupied since my birth and the special mutts, natural disasters, and other challenges that have terrorized the tributes.

Despite the knowledge I know I have, I still feel flickers of insecurity inside me. I glance over at Volt's alliance, which is now moving to the camouflage station. The pair from Eight is there as well, who gives them distrustful looks before moving on to the obstacle course. Volt's three allies pay close attention to the instructor as she shows them how to blend in with a mottled forest landscape, but Volt's eyes drift over to me, and I look away quickly.

The alliance is probably the Career's biggest weakness, a large alliance of strong tributes who are learning as much as they can. I should be hating them and imagining how I will kill them. Perhaps I'll string Volt up by the neck in the way the traps master taught me… but the thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Volt mutters something to his allies, who dismiss him without much of a thought. I realize he's coming over to me, and I begin slashing my sword again with a fury. Volt silently picks up a moderately sized machete and doesn't say anything, just begins his own training.

For a few moments, I wonder if I simply imagined his purposeful gaze, but then I catch him looking at me again.

"You're very good with a blade," he says lowly enough that the other Careers on the other side of the weapons rack can't hear.

I swallow nervously, trying to put on my strong, brutish Career face that I've practiced over the years. "I've been using one since I was six."

"Admirable." His smirk is far too self-assured. My mask isn't working on him.

"Is there something you want?" I snap, but he only steps closer to me.

"You might have been practicing since you were a child, but I know you don't belong with these people," he whispers. "If you ever want someone else to talk to, I'm around."

With that, he leaves, giving me no time to think over what he means. Talk to? Is he trying to get me to reveal the Careers' plans, as if we have any yet? Or is he wanting me to switch sides and join his alliance? As if.

As Volt returns to his allies, none of them seem to have any idea of the conversation he just had. I swallow hard and return to my swordfighting, trying to seem unbothered by the encounter.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

It only took me one day here in the Capitol to realize just how my opinion of being a tribute is very different from everyone else's. Looking around the training center, I can tell that I am the only one truly enjoying myself. Sure, a few of the Careers and the talkative guy from Eleven have been trying to make the most of their time here, but their body language gives away their impatience. This is but a passing piece of enjoyment in their lives that they want over with as soon as possible. The Careers can't wait to murder others, the friendly ones (or not so, in the case of the Eleven boy who called me a "redheaded freak") simply wanting to get back home. But I don't want either. All I've ever wanted is my freedom, and now I have it.

I feel a few strands of red hair brushing my forehead, coming undone from my ponytail as I thrust forward with the staff. The weapons trainers had tried introducing me to the scythe on my first day here, but the bladed weapon reminded me too much of my time at the cult. I watched Alder wield it instead, keeping a respectful distance before deciding it wasn't for me. Among the many strange weapons the training center is home to, I managed to find a small collection of wooden staffs collecting dust underneath the rack of medicine balls. The staff's simplicity and ability for close combat as well as guarding deeply interested me, and I immediately began practicing with it.

The trainer that I'm sparring with now is the only one who shared my enthusiasm, as the others clearly preferred the shiny, sharp, bladed weapons that littered the training center. A few others watch us with only slight interest as the trainer comes in to fix my footwork before a particular parry, but I'm one step ahead of him, recalling the correct steps before he can even remind me. He grins in pride and I return the smile hesitantly, aware that his tutelage has likely been given to many fallen tributes, and that he care nothing of my life or safety in the arena. But it's not like the rest of my life has been much different, living under the iron fists of the Skull Cult who eventually turned against me and sentenced me to death. At least I'm able to do what I please instead of either constantly working in the fields or praising the sacred sun.

After an hour or so of training with the staff, I bid farewell to the trainer and head over to the knives. I'll return for more staff training later, but I also need to master a back-up weapon, as I know wooden staffs aren't exactly commonly supplied in the Cornucopias. I can only hope there is wood in the arena to make my own, but otherwise I'll need a knife to get by. I practice some throwing, my aim not completely abysmal, and some hand-to-hand combat. Once I'm satisfied, I leave for the fire-making station.

The girl from Five is there, her platinum silver hair falling into her eyes. She doesn't seem perturbed by my presence, continuing on with rubbing two twigs together with the confidence that tells me she's done this many times before. When sparks fly and the kindling catches, she smirks proudly, not paying one bit of attention to me at all. I watch, entranced, as the flames flicker frivolously, reaching skyward for their father flame, the sacred sun who watches over all of our human endeavors...

"How are you coming along?"

The trainer's words snap me out of my reverie. "Yes," I say, gripping my firestarter stone tighter. I need to forget the words of the cult. They can't hurt me anymore, if they ever could in the first place. Perhaps the sun is just a hovering ball of flame like the outside world believes, not a vengeful god.

I strike the firestone a few times, the sparks catching easily. The cult used to say that witches were averse to fires, but it seems they were wrong.

After starting a few more fires, I move on to the plant identification, where the training is happy to see me. My memorization skills come in handy as I pore over the new plants that cannot be found in District Nine. Who knows where the Gamemakers will drop us- in a tropical jungle, in a desert like last year, in a frozen wasteland, or even something similar to the eternal night that I remember from my childhood. I shudder at the thought, the idea of living without the sun watching over me still making me uneasy despite the fact that he might want me to burn at the stake.

After correctly working with the poisons and edible plants, I move on to the traps. This I also excel at, fascinated by the simple yet effective ways of incapacitating an enemy. I could use any of them to find food, kill mutts, or even another tribute. I catch myself smiling as I successfully create another snare. It's nice to be able to accomplish things for my own sake instead of for the good of the cult or the sacred sun and skull.

I move on to the obstacle course, where I wait in line with several other tributes who are waiting silently for their turn. Above us, the girl from Ten with the shaved head is having the time of her life swinging around the monkey bars, clearly not taking any of it seriously. The others look disgusted or confused, but I can understand to an extent what it's like to enjoy your time here despite the impending doom. I wait behind the girl from Three, her massive head of curly hair blocking much of my view. Once she has her turn, I observe the rest of the room and the forming alliances. The pair from Six have teamed up with the guys from Five and Three, clearly a formidable alliance that I don't look forward to facing. The Careers, of course, are making a racket on the other side of the room, their loud voices carrying.

When my turn arrives, my muscles tense and I take a moment before rushing the course, imagining the Careers are after me with their clashing weapons and lust for blood. I've been surviving my whole life, and I'm sure I can do it for a few more weeks.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

After spending so long at the knot-tying station, I'm starting to get bored, longing for the feeling of a blade in my hand again. I know that survival skills are important, but I feel a false sense of security when I hold a sword, like if i spend enough time with it I'll miraculously be able to protect my allies without any trouble, or that the Careers will see my prowess with it and decide to stay away. Not that I have much skill to brag about compared to the Careers, but I can hold my own.

My allies seem far more interested in the knot-tying demonstration than I am, Dylan raptly explaining a complicated knot to Pagani while Volt watches on. Our new partner from Three is definitely turning out to be a vital addition to our team, wit his wits and easy knowledge about many things like this, or about physics, math, and the like. Earlier he explained to me the way boats float and how large the load can be according to the size. Most of it went over my head, but I suppose that's why he's in our alliance. Not to mention he's fairly handy with an axe.

As I watch our rag-tag group pore over the ropes with nimble fingers, I know that we need more members. Volt is adamant about not letting in his district partner, who he seems to have some kind of vendetta against. I personally think her intelligence threatens him, not the kind of intelligence that Dylan has, but rather her ability to understand people like he can. It's a shame, since the more numbers we have the greater our chances of survival are, but i also want the group to be as cohesive as possible. If they don't like each other, no one can force them to. I learned that a long time ago back in Six with the Warriors.

"Logan, do you understand everything?" Dylan asks me eagerly, his carefully constructed mask cracking just a little with his enthusiasm.

"Yes, I have it all," I say with a smile. "Are you ready to get back to the weapons?"

"I am," Pagani says, standing up and wiping off her pants. Her blue eyes scan the room, stopping at the throwing knives. She's been honing her skills quite well, enough to hit the target a good two out of three times, even hitting the bull's eye every now and then.

"Want to spar, Logan?" Volt asks me with a grin. His icy blue eyes have a different sharpness to them than Pagani's. While hers are a little dull from hard life on the streets, Volt's have some kind of distance in them, something that usually I would avoid if I saw it in the eyes of a prospective Warrior. I've turned away boys for that look before, but I suppose I don't have much of a choice here in the Games. A touch of cruelty might just be the thing we need to survive in the arena, some unabashedness that the rest of us don't have.

Volt and I head to the sword section while Dylan cautiously approaches the axes, where the girl from One is practicing, complaining at the trainer about the sizes of the blades. Pagani stands in line for some time with the knives, which is a particularly popular station. Volt grabs a machete, the wicked curve glinting in the light. I grab a sword and drag it to the sparring area, hefting it up and recalling the footwork that the trainer pounded into my head.

Volt is a talented swordsman as well, our instincts leading us to fight for several minutes before deciding to call it a draw. The baldes clash together one more time before we let them down, and I wipe sweat from my brows, shaking the hair out of my eyes.

"I think I'm going to head back to the plants station," Volt says, panting lightly. His skinny, pale frame not used to the strain. I nod and decide to stay longer at the swords, swinging it around in my palm and hearing the balde whistle in the air. I swiftly slice off the arm of a silicone dummy, stabbing the stomach as forcefully as I can. I pull out the sword and imagine the person's guts spilling onto the ground, stumbling as they try to cling to balance and their life. I've seen blood and some gore on the streets back home, but nothing so violent as this… aside from the deaths on the television every year.

I suddenly hear Volt's deep voice from the other side of the room, and I turn to see the guy from Two walking away from the station with a huff. I raise an eyebrow at Volt, but he simply shrugs and turns back to his plants. We don't want to catch the attention of the Careers, especially to our large alliance, but he doesn't seem to care very much.

"Great job, Terra!"

Over at the knife station, the girl from Twelve is just leaving to make room for Pagani. Her district partner commends her with a high-five and a bright grin. He's right about her aim; most of the knives are sticking into the target with one right in the center of the bull's eye. The guy is also not too bad with a pickaxe, which is pretty typical of older Twelve tributes. I've had my eye on them since day one, and time is running out. If we want them in our alliance, we'll have to make a move soon.

I hack at another dummy, my mind traveling elsewhere, back to Six. I wonder if the Warriors are doing well without me, if any of the other gangs are trying to take advantage of my absence and establish some new territory. The thought fills me with anger, but I try to channel it into my sword handle, slicing open a dummy's stomach. I need to get back to my gang, to Dante, Lance, Jax, Trent… and Natalie.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

Flux swipes another color of paint over her cheek, admiring how the dark green blends into her natural caramel skin. I'm not nearly as artistically gifted as Flux, but I'd rather her be entertained here while I sit there bored than have her nagging me to come practice knives with her. I've spent enough time with a knife in my hand to last a lifetime, especially considering I'll have to handle one in the arena. I'll be fine without the extra training.

"What do you think?" Flux asks. Her cheek is swirling green and purple, like squashed flower petals and grass. She would blend right in with a forest floor.

"I wish I could paint like that," I say wistfully. "If we ever need to camouflage ourselves, you'll have to do both of us."

"You can just climb up in the trees," she says matter-of-factly, swiping more pigment on her forehead. She was surprised at my agility when she saw me run through the obstacle course for the first time, and now she won't let go of it.

"We don't know if the arena will have any trees," I say quietly, glancing around the room. The Careers are minding their own business as usual, the girl from One battering a dummy with a huge spiked mace. Her black hair is pulled out of her pale face, focusing on her training. She doesn't seem too concerned about what we're doing, despite Flux's rant about her yesterday. Hopefully she has thick skin and will be able to forget about the whole affair, leave us alone in the arena. But somehow I doubt it- Careers usually have long memories and aren't very forgiving.

But Flux doesn't seem concerned either. She ignores all of the other tributes around us, including the girl from Three who is currently silently applying colors to her arm beside us. "I hope there's sand or rocks," Flux says. "Then I'll blend right in. But you'll be screwed with your pale skin."

I smile a little. "I'll figure it out. Maybe we should try the weightlifting station again."

Flux sighs. "Fine. But a little muscle won't matter if the other tribute has an axe," she says with a meaningful smile.

"We need to put on some muscle," I explain, standing and guiding her back to the medicine balls. I manage to lift a smaller one and perform some of the exercises the trainer taught me while Flux messes around with the balls. She doesn't seem bothered by the judgemental looks from the girl from Four with a typical beach tan and golden hair. She huffs a little when we don't leave and moves to be back with her district partner at the javelins, where he's throwing them with deadly accuracy and a bellowing laugh.

We stay there for a few more minutes before the bell rings for lunch. We all file into the cafeteria, Flux huffing in impatience and tapping her foot as we wait for our turn for food. After grabbing our large meal of fresh salad, fruits, chicken in mushroom sauce, and bread, I start to scan the room for an empty table.

I suddenly hear Flux's voice behind me, and I sigh, hoping she's not bothering someone else now. I turn to see her helping the little girl from Seven reach for a piece of bread that was too far up on the counter for her to reach. "You need to grow a few more inches," Flux says matter-of-factly.

"Her height is fine," her brother snapped, grabbing the bread away from the girl. "I can take care of her."  
"Come on, Flux," I mumble under my breath, trying to pull her along by her elbow.

"Damn, what's your guys' problem?" she asks indignantly. "I'm just trying to help."

"She doesn't need your help," the guy snarls, his face turning red to match his flaming hair.

"Raven, she did help me," the girl says quietly. "I just wanted some bread."

Raven humphs, glaring at Flux out of the corner of his eye. "We don't need your help, sorry."

"Raven, she's just being nice." The girl turns back to Flux, then glancing over at me. "If you guys want to sit with us, you can. I've seen you guys at the obstacle course and the survival stations."

I eagerly step in, smiling at her. "We've seen you at the knives stations, and your brother with the axe. And you seem really good at climbing."

She blushes a little and smiles. "Thank you. Where are you sitting?"

 _Passion Mavros (18)- D1F_

I eye the pair from Eight suspiciously as they sit at a side table with the siblings from Seven. If the weaklings want to blow their chances even further by grouping up, then that's fine. I'll take my revenge on the girl from Eight once we're dropped into the arena. I feel my blood sing with excitement at the thought of drawing blood, bringing a mace down over the head of the girl from Eight, watching her skull crack and blood seeping through her curly black hair.

"How are you feeling, sweet thing?" Farhoud bellows, smirking at me with his long hair pulled up behind his ears. His beard is braided today, probably an idea from his stylist. I wonder if he'll have a special beard for the interview with Caesar Flickerman.

I grin up at him coquettishly, fluttering my eyelashes. "The trainers won't let me use the maces anymore because I've been "hogging" them," I say distastefully. "As if anyone else wants to use them. They're just jealous that I'm so good with them."

Farhoud grins at me. "That's too bad. Maybe you should come spend some time with me at the javelins. I'll show you some accuracy, right Callum?" He ends the sentence in a louder caliber, calling to Callum who sits on the other side of me.

Callum's ears redden a little, but he simply smiles queasily and returns to his lunch. Callum's aim has been slowly improving, though I would never tell him that. It's still pretty horrible, but he can hold his own with a sword.  
Farhoud reaches over to smack Callum on the back loudly, causing him to jerk forward and splutter into his milk. Farhoud laughs and holds his large chest as a crutch.

"I think you should try using more weapons, and maybe focus on agility for a little while," Leto says with a raised eyebrow. " Then we should all go through the obstacle course right after another so we can compare our abilities." She glances over at Cyprian, who as usual is staring into the distance with a frown between his brows. "What do you think, Cyprian?"

He snaps back into reality, turning to her with a grimace. "Fine." He's a man of few words, which I appreciate. More spotlight for me.

"If you guys want to compare abilities, why don't we take some turns at the batons?" Marlowe asks smugly. "Then we can see whose the most agile. Batons require a lot of speed and balance, you know."

I huff into my tea, rolling my eyes. Marlowe thinks she can hold a candle to my natural exotic beauty, not with her golden hair and tan skin that's a dime a dozen in Four, no matter how hard she might try. I'd like to see her try to dance at my studio in One. "When I wear the victor's crown and show off my talent in dancing, we'll see who's the most agile," I sneer.

"I think I might be able to take you on, princess," Farhoud grins, making a kissy face at me.

"You wish." But I know a fight against Farhoud wouldn't be easy for me, not with his muscles and bold, determined fighting style. A spiky mace could crush his thin javelin without a doubt, but after that I'd have to avoid getting taken down by his huge frame.

"Do you really think in your pretty little head that you c-"

"Hello."

All of us turn to the head of the table, where the guy from Ten is standing, tall and broad shoulders blocking the light.

"Hello, Jeremy," Leto responds immediately, eyes on high alert. "Have you thought about our offer?"

"Actually, I came to talk to you about that," he says plainly, his green eyes not giving anything away. He gestures to the seat beside Callum, and he scoots over quickly so that the newcomer can sit at our table. "I've given it a lot of thought, and I would like to join your alliance, if the offer still stands."

"You don't talk like a hick from Ten," I say, picking something out of my teeth with my finger. His head snaps to me, eyes wide, but quickly relaxes.

"We have education in Ten, same as you," he says mildly. I narrow my eyes at him, about to berate him for being disrespectful before Farhoud cuts in.

"I've seen you with a sword," he says, leaning back with his arm around me. "I wouldn't mind having you on our side."

"I've seen you with a javelin," Jeremy says genuinely. "I wouldn't want to be on the other side of it."

Farhoud looks awfully pleased with himself, which makes me roll my eyes again. "I wouldn't mind if he joined," I say dismissively. The Careers would never allow in someone in without my approval, I'm sure.

"Then it's official," Leto says, standing to reach over to Jeremy and shake his hand. He returns it with a stiff hand. "Welcome to the alliance. Prove to us that you're worth the food and supplies and you'll have a better chance of survival."

"Thank you." Jeremy's face is neutral as he starts to finish his lunch, which is a double serving of chicken and extra fruit, as if he's trying to eat as much as possible. I turn my nose up at him and focus on my own food, which is now almost gone. We'll see how talented this outer-district bumpkin is when he faces me at the axe station after this.

 _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_

After lunch, Rylex and I start heading to the obstacle course, until we realize the Careers have taken over the station. The boy from Ten is with them, standing with the guy from One, tapping his foot impatiently. His face is blank, but I feel anger rise inside me. Is he really about to betray his own district and side with the cruel murderers who think this is all a sport? Only someone who is a sociopath themselves would ever join a group of trained killers.

"Let's go back to the medicine station," Rylex says under his breath. He's too non-confrontational, but he's probably right in this case. As much as I would like to give the Careers a piece of my mind, we should mind our own business and not provoke them. I'll save that for the arena.

The medicine station is thankfully empty, but we've already gone over so many of bandaging and wound treatments that I'm bored out of my mind. Still, Rylex makes pleasant conversation with the trainer and asks several questions that he probably already knows the answers to.

We're not there for too long until the guys from Three and Six come over from where their alliance is practicing their memorization skills. I pretend I don't notice them approaching, but Rylex greets them with a friendly smile. He's too sweet for his own good, especially when it comes to potential enemies.

"Hello," the guy from Three says timidly as the guy from Six waves at us.

"Hey, how are you?" Rylex says.

"I'm Logan, and this is Dylan," the guy from Six says. He matches Rylex's smile, apparently just as friendly as my poor naive district partner. His looks probably help him with his agenda, his dirty blond hair and wide blue eyes making him more sympathetic, especially by Capitol standards.

"Rylex." They shake hands, and even Dylan steps forward for a handshake despite seeming nervous. Logan turns to me and extends his hand and I take it hesitantly, but not without a distrustful look. His friendly smile doesn't falter as he sits down beside me. I peek their allies watching us from across the room, and I bristle at the thought that they're scoping us out.

"I'd like to tell you guys about our alliance," Logan says, still with that golden boy look on his face. "We've been watching your two, and we think you have a lot to offer to our coalition."

"Is this a business deal?" I snort. Rylex gives me a warning look without any real heat behind it.

"Well, I'd say we're interested." Rylex says with a pacifying smile. "What else can you tell us?"

I feel like we've been stopped by a desperate salesman at the Hob, and Rylex is too nice to walk away. While Logan drones on about the benefits of entering the Games in a large alliance, even bringing up statistics that I feel like he might be fabricating on the spot, Rylex listens intently, and I watch Dylan as he squirms uncomfortably under my gaze. I've seen him at the memorization station, his scores much higher than the average, typical for the Three tributes. Despite his nervousness, he might turn out to be a valuable ally after all.

Not to mention Logan and the other tributes, who all seem to be fairly skilled with weapons and have spent time at the survival stations littered around the training center. Joining the alliance wouldn't _hurt_ our chances for winning.

"What do you think, Terra?" Rylex is looking at me with expectant eyes. I sigh in a long-suffering way, pretending to contemplate the options.

"Fine," I say, nodding to Logan. "But if you guys turn out to be more of a hindrance than a help, we won't be afraid to leave and make our own way at any time."

Logan takes a second to think. "That's fair. How about you come over with us so we can get to know each other."

"Alright, let's go!" Rylex seems genuinely excited about meeting new people as always. I'm not as ecstatic, but I know we'll have to get along in order to help each other. As we move toward the memorization station, the guy from Five grins in a welcoming way and the girl from Six stares through us as if trying to figure out if we're worthy. When Rylex smiles at her, she reluctantly returns it, looking pained to have to emote something.

"This is Pagani and Volt," Logan says, gesturing to each of them.

"I've seen you at the plants station looking at all of the poisons," I say to the guy from Five, who smirks a little.

"We don't want to eat the wrong thing and end up violently sick," he says calmly. "Do you guys know a lot about plants in Twelve? Maybe we could help each other."

"Twelve is full of mines, you think we have a lot of plants there?" I say sardonically.

"Be nice, Terra," Rylex carps. "Go learn about plants with Volt."

I huff in annoyance, but I go with him all the same, watching behind my back at Rylex, unsure if I should leave him behind alone with the others.

"Are you okay?" Volt asks me, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," I say with a yawn, plopping down onto the fake grass of the plants section. I won't show anyone that I've started to grow attached to little Rylex, who reminds me of the selfless and friendly nature of my brother.

As we begin identifying edible and dangerous plants, Volt does manage to get a few words out of me, and he actually seems to have a nice sense of humor. He laughs at my joke about the ridiculous Career girls, who seem to be more worried about their hair than their performance is the obstacle course.

"The big guy from Four has enough hair to be a girl, maybe they accidentally put his name in the wrong bowl," he mutters to me, and I have to suppress my laughter. Maybe this alliance won't be too bad after all.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

By the time the bell rings, signifying that our training has finally ended, I actually feel like I've learned enough to be able to survive in the arena. I knew that I would spend my time well here in the training center, just as I always have in District Eleven, but I never thought I would have done it all with Thorn at my side. I recall the night of the Parade, when Seeder had yelled at Thorn for being constantly nihilistic and poking fun at the Games, and how I thought he was a horrible, scathing, unpleasant person who had the stench of one of the bitter brats that populate our unfortunate district.

Looking at him now, I can barely recognize him. He's still trying to hide behind a mask of indifference, but I can see the softness in his eyes when he puts a hand on my shoulder as we line up at the elevator. We've spent most of the day working on our survival skills, then finished up with throwing knives and spears. Thorn doesn't like working with the weapons as much, but I find that my aim with the spear has improved greatly, while Thorn's knowledge of traps equals his enthusiasm.

"When we're in the arena, we'll have to try to get some kind of rope or net," I say.

Thorn looks down at me and blinks. "Certain twigs and sticks are likely to work just as well."

"That's true," I say with a pleasant smile. "I hope the arena will have trees or bushes or something similar so we can make a trap."

Thorn shifts on his feet. "Yes."

For once, he doesn't say anything else. He always clams up whenever I bring up the idea of allying in the arena, but he never denies it. I imagine that there hasn't been another time in his life where he's worked with someone else.

The elevator is silent as we ascend to our apartment, very close to the tippy-top of the building. The windows give a fabulous view of the sparkling city, alight with activity and zeal, excited for the training scores which will be announced tomorrow evening. As soon as the elevator doors open, Thorn steps out and beelines to the couch, a very unusual occurrence as on our other evenings he would sit with the escort, making as much conversation as he could. He grabs a notebook which was resting on the coffee table and immediately begins writing, his eyebrows furrowed.

"How was your last day?" the escort asks me with her usual pep, setting down a magazine depicting a stick thin model with diamonds embedded into her skin and blonde hair slicked up in the air.

"Fine. I learned a lot," I smile, trying to match her upbeat tone. "I'm ready to prepare for the interview."

"Not so fast." Seeder's flat voice creeps out from the darkness of the kitchen. I look over my shoulder to see her standing with a glass of fizzing golden liquid in her shaking hand. "You still have the private session to worry about."

"I can handle that on my own," I say. "I've been training for three days. I need to know how I should play it for the Capitol to think I have a chance, regardless of my training score. I know the interviews are important."

Seeder snorts. "You don't have a chance."

I bristle, my spine straightening up. "I disagree. I think I have a lot of potential."

"You're bloodbath fodder, just like… Jo."

I know who she's talking about; the female tribute from last year who she was close to, the one whose parents were from the Capitol. "I'm not Jo," I say fiercely. "I'm my own person and you are my mentor."

"There's no point in mentoring you, little one," Seeder says, sounding sad and bitter and frightened all at once.

"You shouldn't criticize your own trainee," Thorn says suddenly from the couch .I turn to him with surprise, and Seeder stops mid-sip from her drink. Her eyes narrow as she sneers at him.

"You are nothing but a pathetic, fearful idiot and you will die too. You would be a disgrace to Eleven as a victor."

Everything that's happened to me since the Reaping is abruptly piling up inside me; the fear, the frustration, the hate, the helplessness, the realization that I hold the power of life and death in my hands. I grab for a knife lying on the glass dinner table and fling it at the wall, breathing hard and pleased when it sticks solidly into the wall.

I glance at Seeder to see her staring at me with disbelief, and I huff before stomping back to my room, my heart beating like the knife actually struck a real person. By the time I slam the bedroom door behind me, I realize my face is hot and probably bright red. I press my palms to my cheeks and sigh, my eyes slipping closed. I slide down to the floor, realizing I will have to go through the Games alone, without a mentor to guide me.

There's a knock at the door, and I stand quickly and almost yell for them to leave, but then decide against it. I crack open the door to peek at Thorn's dark eyes and freckles. He half-smiles at me, this one slightly less sleazy than the ones he used to give everyone when we first arrived at the Capitol.

"I'm sorry about that," he says. "What she said isn't true."  
I look him up and down. "I know. I'll have you to help me, right?"

"Of course," he says softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "We can rely on each other."

* * *

 **Next we move on to the private sessions! It will be told from the perspective of the Gamemakers, but we'll see every tribute. For now, what do you think of the training and alliances formed over the last couple chapters? I hope they were all satisfactory! Who do you think has the best chances of winning?**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	20. Private Sessions

**Hey everyone! I hope you all are pleased with your tribute's session. And if anyone is interested, my friend domgk115, the creator of Jason and Nikki in Born to Die and Jeremy in these Games, has started his own SYOT called "Life or Death: the 76th Hunger Games". I still haven't figured out how to post links but if you go into the comments you can find his profile fairly easily. I just thought I'd let everyone know if they wanted to submit some tributes.**

 **Now onto the private sessions!**

* * *

 _Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker_

As I situate myself in my seat, I actually feel a spark of my old passion for the Hunger Games. When I was a child, the training scores were my favorite part of the preparation for the actual Games. I would stay up all night the evening before, reading the predictions for the scores on the online forums and rewatching the Reaping and Parade footage, then call over my friends to watch the scores go live. Then we'd spend hours discussing who would go far in the Games.

The other Gamemakers are milling around, laughing and already ordering drinks and food for themselves. Livianus shoots a glance my way, and I smile at him, with just the right levels of ice and pleasantness. He smiles back nervously. I've never wanted children of my own, but I imagine sitting here judging his own son's ability to survive the Hunger Games. It is a huge honor, of course, but the boy will never know that his father is here watching him.

Below the Gamemaker's box, the trainers and a handful of Avoxes are making finishing touches on the training area. The weapons have all been freshly sharpened and waxed, gleaming under the light wickedly. I feel a grin stretch over my face.

"It's time for the sessions!" I announce, clapping my hands. My loyal employees quiet down immediately and sit in their velvet chairs, now only quietly whispering amongst each other. "Everyone, take notes of everything you can and make an accurate judgment of each tribute. Then we'll meet afterwards and average out our scores."

The others murmur their assent, the sounds of paper shuffling, electronic buzzing and glass clinking filling the air. I breathe in the taste of my authority and the quiet air of anticipation. I stand and wave my hand, and the Avoxes all scuttle to the sides of the training center. The trainers all take to their stations, standing to the side in case the tributes want someone to spar with.

The electronic voice rings through the training center. "Callum Koche, District One!"

Callum walks swiftly through the doorway, looking to the Gamemakers with a swift nod. He beelines for the weapons, grabbing a normal short sword and heading straight for a dummy. He takes a breath before hacking it up, showing off his fancy footwork and easily hacking the dummy into pieces within seconds. He does this with several dummies, then nods toward the trainer to indicate he'd like to spar. The battle is intense and lasts for several minutes, until I finally raise my hand as a signal to stop. The trainer immediately stops, bowing his head and going back to his place at the side of the sword rack.

Callum is breathing heavily, as is his opponent. He's clearly planned his session out beforehand, heading toward the obstacle course. His run is fairly average for a Career, and he has no trouble with the climbing, crawling, and jumping, and even smiles when he's finished. He finishes up his session by identifying edible and poisonous plants before the timer goes off. His identification is nearly perfect, and he gives us a respectful bow before leaving. He walks in a way that reminds me of Avoxes, holding his hands in front of him, head slightly bowed. Not exactly too confident in himself, it seems.

"Passion Mavros, District One!"

Our next tribute could not be more of an opposite. She strides into the room with a giant grin, prancing over to the weapons, where she grabs hold of a mace and motions for a trainer to come forward. She peeks over her shoulder at the Gamemakers cheekily before starting the fight with a hefty lunge toward the trainer. The mace spikes are dulled for safety, but she still pummels the trainer like she was making a kill. Her determination and prowess with the weapon is clear, but we see more of her actual technical ability when she moves on to the crescent axes, letting some fly into their targets easily before also sparring with another trainer.. As she fights, her grace in the field is apparent, spinning on her toes to evade the opposing blade and elegantly swinging her axe over her head. But unlike the first battle, which was clearly a victory for Passion, this one ends in a red light.

Her time is almost up, but she doesn't seem concerned as she ends the session by throwing more axes, this time against moving targets. She hits almost all of them on the bull's eye, and when the bell goes off for her to leave, she sends a wink our way and saunters out of the room.

I automatically sigh and look around the room to find Rowan's eyes to share a look, but then I remember he is no longer here, removed by myself and the President. In fact, I haven't seen those eyes for months, since he was terminated. I allow myself a moment of grief before returning to the task at hand, just as the voice announces the next name.

"Cyprian Clay, District Two!"

Cyprian's hulking form appears in the doorway, but contrary to what one would expect, he heads straight for the plant identification station. His score is slightly above average, at which point he heads to the medicine station and shows his knowledge of wound and illness treatment. He is clearly capable of making bandages, slings, and the like, as well as making homemade salves if given the proper materials. He then makes a run through the obstacle course, his time and ability clearly at the same level one has come to expect from District Two, easily passing through the rock wall and even the sprinting sections, despite his heavy and large body.

Having apparently gotten these out of the way, he emotionlessly moves on to the weapons, where he retrieves a greatsword and motions to spar. The trainer steps forward, already gritting his teeth at the draining prospect of fighting a trained Career. Cyprian clearly knows his technique when it comes to swordfighting, which is only matched by his physical strength. He easily takes down one trainer in a mere minute, then motions for another to join them. I lean forward in my seat- fighting two trainers at once is not unheard of, but certainly a risky move. The battle lasts for a long time, and at the beginning it seems Cyprian will come out on top, his sword moving quickly and swiftly enough to block both trainers while also making slashes at their arms and legs. But suddenly one of the trainers manages to knock him off balance with a great thrust of her sword, and the flicker of indecision that flashes across his face in unmistakable. The other trainer then thrusts him onto his back with the sword, and the other steps on his chest.

The timer goes off just as the battle is won. Cyprian scrambles up, his face a mixture of emotions. He leaves quickly without so much of a glance our way. I hum to myself as I make notes of the session. He's competent, clearly, but he needs to be able to face adversity without losing his hope or confidence.

"Leto Larston, District Two!"

Leto enters the room and bows shortly to us, her face stern and composed. She heads immediately to the weapons, grabbing a whip, which I've seen her use during her training days. She pulls out a long whip and slips her hand down its length lovingly, then cracks it once and letting the sound echo off the walls. She then cracks the whip in the direction of the dummies, the whip striking lightning fast and wraps around their necks, pulling them over. She jerks the crop of the whip and one of the dummy's silicon necks snaps. She swiftly turns and grabs another pair of dummies that meet similar ends, the whip moving faster than the eye can see. Her prowess with the weapon is truly amazing, and it's a weapon that we don't see a lot in these private sessions.

Leto then motions for a trainer to join her in combat, who steps forward with a sword in hand. A beat passes before they lunge at each other, the whip cracking loudly as it wraps around the trainer's arm. The trainer flings it away and tries to slash at her, but she rolls away, the whip curling around his leg and knocking him over. He regains his feet quickly, but the whip wraps around the sword and jerks it away from him before he can retrieve it. Leto smirks as she throws it back to him, stalking away to the obstacle course, where her ability and time are similar to that of her district partner. It's certainly an impressive session, but she simply bows with a composed expression before leaving.

"Dylan Bronze, District Three!"

Our first non-Career tribute, and he certainly seems like it. His nervousness is palpable, but there's also an admirable determination that shines forth as he heads for the plant identification. His score is certainly above average, and he seems to have gained more confidence as he heads to the fire-making station, followed by the trap-making station. He easily makes a simple snare, followed by a more complicated one. While he's at it, he shows us he can knot ropes in different knots of varying difficulty. He then goes to the shelter-making station and makes a simple lean-to, before perhaps realizing that his time is almost up.

Dylan hurries to the axes, where he hefts one over his shoulder and hacks up some dummies. His mind is clearly working the entire time to remember his footwork and advanced slashing techniques, but he apparently isn't confident enough to spar with a partner. When the bell rings, he bows before us with a red flush on his cheeks, partly from anxiety and partly from pride.

"Caillou Wight, District Three!"

The door slides open, and at first I think that Caillou is hesitating to enter. But then she appears soundlessly, her huge head of curly dark hair proceeding her, walking on her tiptoes in an impressively silent manner. A few of the Gamemakers chuckle, some in clear derision while others in apparent amusement, and murmur amongst themselves. I keep my eyes fixed on Caillou, who tiptoes to the shelter making station, over the metal and stone that surrounds it, then rolls off with nearly no sound. She then tiptoes to the obstacle course, which she climbs through carefully, paying no attention to the time but simply her technique. Her sprints, jumps, and rolls occasionally make noise, but she quickly falls back into silence in a way that would confuse any enemy that couldn't see her.

After this, Caillou makes her way to the crossbows, where she grabs one and strings an arrow, taking some time to aim before letting it loose. It misses entirely, causing more laughter and muttering, but she simply grabs another arrow and tries again. After a few more tries, she manages to hit the targets in their arms and legs, ending with a firm hit to the sternum. Seeming satisfied, Caillou then heads to the camouflage station, slowly sitting and beginning to paint her face with a relaxed, unhurried expression. She pulls back her mound of hair with a hand and lets the other paint over her dark skin with careful fingers. The Gamemakers begin to shift in boredom' no one likes to watch paint dry on the tributes' skin. As the conversations pick up in volume, I have a mind to shush them, but then I hear something strange- like everyone is repeating their sentences. Tyrenna tells a colleague to order a drink for her, then the same phrase is said again, surely by someone else as Tyrenna's mouth isn't moving.

"Does someone hear that?" Livianus asks abruptly, his eyes wilk.

"Does someone hear that?"

We all turn to Caillou, who is now standing, her face painted in the pattern of a mossy stone. Her words are in the same exact voice, intonation, and pitch as the original speaker, nearly identical. When she sees we have her attention, she steps forward and clears her throat.

"Raillen Harkness," she says in her own voice, before switching to a near flawless impersonation of the tribute. "I'm from District Five. I use my looks as a tool so that others will pity me." She laughs just like Rai, a carefree, feminine chime. "But I'm flighty and too dependant on others."

She straightens again, then says, "Rylex Steele." Imitating this tribute in a similar way, she goes on to speak as if in a recording of his own voice. "I can make easy allies, but I'm too friendly for my own good. And I'm driven by the fear that people won't like me."

The impressions garner some pleased and incredulous laughs, and Caillou takes a bow before leaving the room. A unique session, for sure. But she didn't show any particular affinity for combat, which can make or break a tribute in the arena, regardless of their other talents.

"Farhoud Pistris, District Four!"

Farhoud swaggers into the room with his long dark hair pulled into a bun, sly grin already on his face as he waves a massive hand our direction. He heads directly for the weights and medicine balls, which he lifts without breaking a sweat, starting with the smaller balls and working his way up to the heavier ones. He lifts the largest weight with a loud grunt, then drops it back to the ground with a clatter. He rolls his neck as he moves toward the weapons, in particular the javelins, which is another weapon we don't see very often in private sessions. His precision with the thin, lightweight weapon is a stark contrast to his strength and obvious vigor. Most of his throws strike near the bull's eye, and he demonstrates various techniques and stances with the javelin over his shoulder, whipping it out from underneath his arm, crouching, standing, and even while jumping. Then he finally motions for a trainer to come forward.

The trainer grips his sword tightly as Farhoud assaults him with a series of merciless javelin jabs, merely taunting him with a gleeful smile on his face. The trainer manages to regain some force in the battle as he pushes back with his balde, parrying a blow from the javelin with a clang, driving his opponent backward for a few moments before Farhoud's strength comes into play- despite the fragility of the javelin, he pushes the trainer away with blunt force with the thin handle of the weapon, then throws the javelin from over his shoulder directly into the trainer's chest. He falls to the ground with a groan, and Farhoud triumphantly turns around to bow deeply before us, finishing with a flourish of his fingers. Then he takes his leave.

The trainer mutters to himself as he picks himself up from the ground, replacing the javelin on its rack. The weapons are dulled so as not to injure, and the trainers wear specially padded vests, but the impact still must have hurt a great deal. Farhoud is certainly a strong tribute and contender, in more ways than one.

"Marlowe Bahari, District Four!"

The final Career waltz inside with grace in her step, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders. She heads straight for the weapons, choosing a bladed baton before stepping up to a few dummies. It seems this year is the Games of unique weaponry. She slices the heads off of several dummies in quick succession, the precision of her movements contrary to the clueless pretty girl exterior that she projects. After slicing open a few more, she then motions to spar with another trainer.

This one chooses to also handle a baton, the metal glinting in the artificial light. The two stand opposite each other for a moment, before the trainer lunges forward, the thin blade cutting through the air deadly fast. Marlowe barely rolls away and makes an attempt for the trainer's ankles, which she avoids before bringing her own baton down to Marlowe's neck. Marlowe manages to evade the blade with grace by rolling back to her feet, at which point she swings the baton over her head in a performative fashion before bringing it down to her opponent's head. The trainer barely parries the blow with her own baton, and Marlowe disarms her by twisting the blade with her own, right out of the trainer's hand.

The battle over in a flash, Marlowe then moves on to the obstacle course, which she runs through quite impressively, showing both speed and agility as well as a typical running style of female Careers, who wish to maintain looking attractive for the audience the entire time. She flips her hair out of her head when she finishes, rolling her shoulders and smiling to herself. She bows to us once before leaving.

"Volt Halvorsson, District Five!"

Volt slides into the room with a self-assured smirk, bowing once to us with a hand on his chest before moving swiftly to the swords. He picks a large curved machete to use, cutting up some dummies with the footwork and blade maneuvers of someone who has clearly been listening in training. He hacks up a few dummies fairly efficiently, his skinny arms and frame apparently not hindering his ability to wield the weapon. But against a stronger tribute, he might not fare well. And he doesn't ask to spar.

Instead, he moves on to the plant identification station, where he earns an impressive score. In fact, so impressive that he apparently feels the need to show us again, this time specifically the poisonous plants that he can name perfectly, as well as their effects and warning signs. Then he migrates to the fire-making station, where he ignites several fires using several methods, down to just a few dry twigs. Volt's time almost up, he then finishes at the medicinal station, where he demonstrates substantial knowledge of how to dress a wound, make a split, and use medicinal herbs. He bows once more to us before taking his leave, relaxed and carefree throughout the entire session.

I make several notes as I think over his demonstration. He's clearly not a fighter, but his mind is sharper than most of the tributes we see here in the private sessions, and he wasn't nervous in the slightest.

"Raillen Harkness, District Five!"

Raillen's entrance to the training center is shadowed by Caillou's earlier words about her act, which would not be so easily discernible if she had not pointed it out to us. She moves toward the obstacle course first, running through with an enviable time. She appears to be in good physical shape from before she came to the Capitol, which certainly helps. She runs through it yet again, perhaps showing that she has stamina and determination as well as speed and agility. She ends her run with a pleased expression, smiling mildly as she heads toward the knives.

Usually many tributes fancy showing us their knife skills, yet this is our first one of the day. Raillen carefully chooses a small throwing knife before letting it fly. The knife misses the target completely, but she doesn't let her face fall, instead throwing a few more until one lands solidly in the target, a few inches from the bull's eye. Then she goes head to head with a dummy, showing us her knowledge of various slicing and stabbing techniques, slicing open the stomach, arms neck before jabbing the dummy through the throat with force. Apparently finished, she bows once with a meek expression before leaving the room.

"Logan Wheeler, District Six!"

Logan enters the room with a winning smile on his face, bowing respectfully before heading for the swords. He grabs a normal longsword and swings it around a few times, as if warming up. He then slices up some dummies, decapitating a few, chopping off the limbs of another, jabbing into chests and necks and stomachs. After slicing open the midriff of his final opponent, he motions for a live one to join him on the floor. Logan bows slightly to the trainer before lunging forward, jabbing toward his throat. The trainer dodges and his own blade slashes forward, only for Logan to parry the edge away with impressive strength.

The trainer rolls past him, trying to catch him from behind, but Logan manages to block the blow again and force him away, crouching down to protect himself. He swings the sword fiercely at the trainer and catches his shoulder, the trainer jerking away violently. He responds with a blade to Logan's knee, which he slows down right before it could cause serious damage to his unprotected skin. I give the red light for the battle to end, and Logan steps back with a long huff. He replaces the sword back on the rack and takes a deep breath before continuing to the survival stations. He begins at the fire-making station, where he demonstrates several different techniques of creating a fire from scratch. Then he moves on to plant identification, where he earns a fairly average score. Then he ends with the medicine station and shelter-making station, at which point the timer goes off. He gives us another respectful bow, face carefully neutral as he exits the room.

"Pagani Chevy, District Six!"

Pagani walks into the room stiffly, not sparing us so much as a glance as she heads toward the knife station. She begins with a knife in each hand, one longer than the other, both wickedly glinting in the light. She advances quickly on the dummies, both knives slicing lightning-fast across the chest of her first dummy, then focusing on the arms and neck on the second one. The tiny slices would be seeping blood by now, the person clutching the wounds in pain. She ends her demonstration by slicing open their necks, letting their heads flop over onto their backs by a flap of silicon.

Then she turns toward the throwing targets, gripping the knives tightly in her fists. She lets one fly, the smaller one, which embeds itself near the bull's eye. The larger knife lands farther away, but still might have injured a tribute. She lets a few more fly, her aim getting better with each throw. I wonder if she has had prior experience with knives in Six. After finishing with the knives, she heads toward the survival stations where she demonstrates the same skills as her district partner, in the same order and with around the same level of proficiency. Apparently they've been conspiring together, probably planning on allying in the arena. After this, Pagani takes her leave with a short, disinterested bow.

"Raven Lavalée, District Seven!"

Despite his apparent weakness at the Reaping and the Tribute Parade, Raven walks into the room with a grin, color on his cheeks. I have half a mind why- Johanna Mason did request medicine from the Gamemakers for tuberculosis, which she suspected he had contracted a long time ago due to working in the forests. "It's pretty typical of the poorer lumberjacks to work in more dangerous areas. Half of them end up in a hospital bed out of work," he had written to us. Tributes who have outstanding medical conditions are allowed treatment in the rules of the Games, and it appears to have helped quite a bit in his case.

He bows once and ends it with a head nod before heading directly to the axes. We can usually expect this from a tribute from Seven, and Raven does not disappoint. He swings one around, making quick work of a few dummies before asking to spar with a trainer. The man comes forward hesitantly, gripping his own axe tightly as Raven advances forward. Raven roars as he brings the heavy blade down onto his head, and the trainer barely blocks it with his own axe. He pushes Raven away and tries to slash at him before he can regain his feet, but Raven jumps back and a grin spreads over his face. He forces himself forward with rapid slashes with the axe, until the trainer has to block him again, his arms shaking with the effort of trying to fend him off. Raven finally backs off, this time breathing heavily. He laughs shakily, his strength apparently drained, yet he still stands on steady feet. The trainer advances again, this time with more success. The battle continues for a few more minutes as Raven's stamina slowly wanes, until I signal for the end of the battle.

When the battle is finished, he replaces the axe on the rack and grins up at us again, chuckling to himself. He then moves to the survival stations, taking half a minute at the plant identification station for a breather. Then he flies through the identification for a slightly higher than average score, then moving on to the medicine station, and finally the shelter-making station where he shows exceptional but expected knowledge of how to build from wood. Then the timer goes off and he bows before taking his leave, clearly a little fatigued, but his spirit is still buoyed by his performance. An impressive one, for sure, but will his illness get in the way of his chance at victory?

"Sparrow Lavalée, District Seven!"

Now for the sister, who quietly walks into the room, her eyes downcast as she clearly is avoiding our gaze. She bows quickly, getting that out of the way before heading to the throwing knives. She spends some time spinning the knives between her fingers, getting a sense of the weight and length. Then she throws one quickly at the target, the blade embedding itself into the shoulder. The next knife doesn't stick at all, clattering to the floor. She huffs quietly and takes another knife, hesitating for a moment before throwing it to strike the abdomen of the target. A few more throws, and she manages to get one in the throat of the target, and another right in the heart.

Satisfied with this, she ends up at the medicine station, then plant identification where she gets a much higher than average score, clearly able to get by foraging for food in an arena with wildlife. Then she ends at the fire-making station, and leaves the room with a nervous bow.

"Thimble Brier, District Eight!"

Thimble walks into the room without any indication that he notices we're there. He heads straight for the knives as well, beginning to slice up several dummies around the floor. He clearly has some experience with a knife; his footwork isn't great but he isn't afraid of the blade or to strike. Not to mention he is fast and agile enough to roll around the floor, dodging imaginary blows. He attempts throwing a few knives, only two sticking in the target in their stomach and thigh respectively.

Then he moves on to the obstacle course, which he runs through with an impressive time. His slender body is certainly spry and nimble, able to climb the rock wall incredibly quickly. After finishing the course once, he focuses on the rock wall and rope climbing again, this time showing how he can even jump from rope to rope, and shimmy up and down much quicker than many tributes we see in the sessions. Thimble gives us one respectful bow before leaving, not meeting our eyes.

"Flux DuBois, District Eight!"

The young girl bounces into the room with a wave to the Gamemaker box. She heads right for the camouflage station, an interesting choice. She first paints her arm in the pattern of a running river, probably able to blend it seamlessly in nature. On the other arm, a mossy tree trunk with little bugs dotting the scene. Then, on her face, she ends with a large camouflage of bright yellow and pink flowers, with light green leaves and stems underneath the blooms. She ends the painting session with a dramatic bow, and a few Gamemakers clap scatteredly. Then she moves to the fire-making station, where she manages to make a few fires in different techniques. Her plant identification score is fairly average, and she knows how to make a basic bandage and splint.

Then Flux heads on to the knives, where she grabs a basic small switchblade and starts slicing up some dummies. She clearly remembers her lessons, and what she doesn't have in technique, she makes up for in determination. She definitely doesn't have any qualms about taking risks and jumping forward to stab at the dummies, while still maintaining a modicum of protection with her stance and lithe movements. Once she's finished with the dummies, the timer goes off and she takes her leave with a relaxed bow.

"Alder Kasha, District Nine!"

The boy enters the room with his eyes set on us, hard and unnerving as he keeps his gaze on us, moving toward the knives with his fists clenched. He only turns away when he reaches for a knife, taking a breath before flinging it toward the target. It sticks solidly into the sternum of the target, and his chest heaves as he grabs another, this one striking the neck. Then he crouches and throws some knives, one hitting the thigh and another in the eye. He's a great shot, aiming for a different place for each throw. He jumps up at the same time he quickly throws another knife into the heart of the target.

Finally pleased with his performance, Alder leaves the knives on the floor and heads to the dummy floor. He grabs a scythe, a weapon we sometimes see from Nine tributes. Without any hesitation, he starts swinging the blade at the dummies, their heads and limbs coming away from their bodies like butter. He swings the scythe over his head in a circle, bringing it down to the shoulder of a dummy, slicing it in half. He has some strength for his age of only fifteen, and clearly is comfortable with a blade, particularly the scythe. Apparently Alder doesn't feel the need to show any survival skills, for he only drops the scythe after a few more minutes, and gives us a short bow before leaving, his eyes still dark and steely eyes.

"Blossom Urakaka, District Nine!"  
Blossom's red hair is like a fiery beacon as she appears in the room. She gives us a respectful nod as she moves toward the plant identification station. Her score is nearly perfect, and she clearly has some prior knowledge. She doesn't express any pride at all as she moves on to fire-building, again managing to make fires from all of the available materials. She then heads to the trap-making station, then the shelter-making station, constructing some competent lean-tos and more complicated grass and stick hut. Then she moves on to the weapons.

For a moment, we all watch her bend down to the rare weapons rack, coming back up with a simple wooden staff. She motions for the trainer to spar right away, getting into a battle stance with the staff in both hands. The trainer grabs a machete and stalks forward, albeit with some hesitance that tells me Blossom might have more power with the weapon than one would expect. This comes across immediately as she advances with rapid smacks with the staff on the trainer's arms. He backs up and tries to block them with the machete, swinging it forward, as she jumps backward with agility. She flourishes the staff as they circle each other, then the trainer lunges forward with the machete slashing at the wood. Blossom manages to dodge it while smacking him again on the arm, the blows coming down even heavier now, practically battering him into the ground. During the battle, the timer goes off and the two let their weapons fall to their sides, Blossom quietly putting the staff back on its lowly rack. She bows once before leaving.

"Jeremy Caulfield, District Ten!"

Jeremy gives us a neutral smile as he heads to the weapons, waving to the Gamemaker box. He grabs a spear and hefts it over his shoulder, getting into position before throwing it. The spearpoint hits the target in the hip, and his face falls for a minute before going to the target to retrieve it. He positions himself again before throwing it again, this time hitting it straight in the chest. A few more throws manage to hit the target's head, throat, and abdomen. Then he heads for the swords, slicing open some dummies with visible proficiency. If I didn't know any better, I would say he had some prior experience with weapons. He motions for the trainer to spar with him for a few minutes, during which he admirably holds his own until finally defeating the trainer with a combination of brute strength and sword technique. He's panting as he replaces the sword on the rack, now heading to the obstacle course.

Despite his fatigue, Jeremy manages a higher than average score, clearly with some kind of athletic background. Then he moves on to survival stations, starting at the fire-making station, where his skills are fairly average. He scores similar results at the plant identification and medical care stations. He's in the middle of making a complicated hut using sticks, rocks, and ropes when the time goes off and he bows respectfully before leaving. Two impressive sessions right after another. It looks like we have a fairly talented crop of tributes this year.

"Caiden Clawford, District Ten!"

Caiden is one of our most distinguished tributes, her buzzed head and sassy way of walking, her aura simply filling up the room. She doesn't spare us so much as a glance as she heads directly for the knot-tying station. She grabs a long rope and crouches over it, practically hiding it from us. After a few minutes, she stands up with the rope in her hand, finally looking up at the Gamemakers. She steps forward until she's right in front of the box, holding up the rope to reveal a noose at the end. Caiden's eyes are hard as she puts the noose around her own neck, staring up at us defiantly, as if daring us to say something. The room is deadly quiet, and I let out a long breath as Caiden ducks out of the noose and throws it on the floor before stalking away.

I shake my head as I make a note on my pad. She isn't the first tribute to refuse to show any skills during their session, but it's still disappointing. This is her time to show us what she's capable of, and yet she decides to defy her fate instead. At least she didn't start screaming at us.

"Thorn Guerra, District Eleven!"

Thorn's observant eyes scan over the Gamemaker box as he enters, a smirk on his face and a bounce in his step. He heads directly to the medicine balls, hefting one up in either arm with a grunt, carrying them once around the room before throwing them at the stock of dummies in the weapon section. The ball knock the dummies to the floor. It's an impressive display of strength, as well as resilience. He stands up straight again, puffing out his chest as he heads to the plant identification section. He gets a nearly flawless score, and quickly too. After that, he moves on to the trap-making station, where he spends the rest of his time.

First he makes some simple snares, then some with more complicated knots. Then he proceeds to make a full body trap, a very complicated one that we don't see often. It takes quite a long time to make, and a few of the Gamemakers start to get a little antsy as we watch on. A few laugh together quietly but Thorn ignores them, slaving over his trap before proudly showing it to us with an eye-smile. Any animal or even tribute who found themselves in the trap would be constricted beyond escape. Then he grabs a net and makes an even larger simple net trap, that would easily ensnare any tribute. Then he bows once before taking his leave, a very simple but impressive session.

The Gamemakers are really starting to get lost in the food and drink now, and I take the time to snap at them a few times before the next tribute is announced. Our tributes need to have all of our attention.

"Luna Everett, District Eleven!"  
Luna's frame is small and unassuming as she enters the room, her eyes set and determined. She heads straight to the obstacle course, hauling herself up the rock wall, easily swinging from handle to handle, her feet easily finding a new place to rest. She makes it to the top and jumps to the ropes which are the next obstacle. She easily swings from rope to rope like a monkey, probably used to being in the trees due to her life in Eleven. When she leaps from the ropes to the floor, she's not even out of breath. She casually heads now to plant identification, where she achieves a pretty high score, especially for her age.

After this, she immediately goes to the weapons, where she picks up a spear, which she can also handle with surprising accuracy. The spears embed themselves into the target most of the time, usually near the throat or chest. Even the targets that are far away are not safe from her assault with the sharp spearheads. She's satisfied by the time the timer goes off, bowing once to us before swaying away.

"Rylex Steele, District Twelve!"

I see Livianus shifting nervously a few seats away, but to his benefit he doesn't say anything or give anything away. As I watch Rylex wave at his from the floor, I realize he has the same bright blue eyes and bubbly personality as his father. He flashes us a friendly grin as he moves toward the weapons, picking up a light spear. It takes a couple of tosses for one to hit the target, the point embedded into the thigh. The next one misses, but the one after that hits the trachea. A few more end up in the stomach and sternum of the dummy, at which point he moves on to the pickaxe. His accuracy with the pickaxe is much higher, probably due to his experience in the mines. His arm is strong as he brings it down onto the head of a silicon dummy, splitting it in half. The point of the pickaxe then buries itself into the chest of another dummy, then into the leg of another. He's clearly comfortable with the weapon, swinging it around easily.

After finishing with the weapons, he moves on to the obstacle course. His size hinders him a little bit from climbing and jumping as fast as he could have, but he's still well-balanced. Despite his lack of speed and slow reflexes, his time is fairly impressive. He bows to us with a pleased smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye before taking his leave.

"Terra Flint, District Twelve!"

Our final tribute. She has a similar plan as Rylex, smirking as she winks at us from far away, making for the weapons. She grabs a knife, her technique a little strange. She doesn't start hacking at the dummy with abandon, instead sneaking behind it and slowly crouching down, quietly walking forward with knife in hand. She then jumps out and stabs the blade into the neck. Then she moves on to the next dummy, this time dragging the blade across the throat, the next one in the stomach. Her feet barely make a sound on the floor as she sneaks around, making short work of the dummies. Before throwing them aside.

Terra moves on to the obstacle course as well, her time even better than Rylex's. Her speed is a major factor in her success, but she lacks accuracy in her footsteps and her strength. But despite this, her time is more than competent and she clearly seems confident in her abilities. She bows with a sarcastic flourish of the hand, letting it fall to her side with a plop and leaves the room.

The trainers and Avoxes immediately begin moving around the training center, resetting the weapons and supplies for another dormant year. The Gamemakers begin to mumble amongst themselves, papers shuffling and quiet laughs echoing in the room. I clear my throat and get to my feet, clasping my hands in front of me, eyes sharply scanning the others.

"Everyone, please congregate in the discussion room. We need to have these scores on Caesar Flickerman's desk in six hours."

Everyone grumbles, but quietly gathers their things and begins leaving the room. Marcelle doesn't spare me a glance, moving along with the others. I feel a strange pang of emotion in my chest when I remember the times that she, Rowan, and I would always have each other's backs even if the other Gamemakers thought I was too harsh or uptight. But it seems by losing Rowan, I've lost both of them.

Regardless, I need to focus on the training scores now. The Games would be nothing without the gamblers knowing their odds, the rich sponsors deciding who to send their money to, and the little girls like I used to be making their predictions. The audience is as much of a participant in the Games as we are, or even the tributes. The scores aren't just based on the tributes' abilities, but also what Seneca Crane always called the "star factor". The victor is never just a survivor, but someone who has the entire nation's eyes on them. A performer as much as a fighter. And the final say in who has a better chance is up to us.

* * *

 **What are your own predictions for the training scores? They will be revealed in the next chapter! Thanks for reading!**


	21. Training Scores

_Callum Koche (18)- D1M_

Today was the only time we've had to relax since arriving at the Capitol. Not that Passion can ever calm down, sauntering around the apartment with various pieces of Capitol jewelry around her neck and handing on her wrists, loud-mouthing the tastes of the stylists. "I should have full control over my outfit for my interview," she declared, dressed in a full-length leisure robe whose sleeves touched the ground. Eventually she settled down before our sessions, perhaps considering what she would display to the Gamemakers, before we returned for our lunch with Augustus, Lavish, and the escort. Lavish is starting to grow tired of her charge's finicky and snappy way of interacting with everyone, though they got along at first. Lavish, the winner of the 69th Hunger Games, has platinum blonde hair that contrasts Passion's jet-black locks, as well as her spacey personality when compared to Passion's fiery demands.

After a few hours of training with our respective mentors, Augustus and I finally retire to the dining room for supper, the affair tense as Augustus and the escort sip on white wine. I can tell they've started to grow tired of us, one of us hot-headed and the other with no special talents, both of us surprise volunteers. They probably can't wait to throw us at the Cornucopia.

Of course, this doesn't mean that they don't want us to succeed. Lavish speaks in detail about what our training scores mean for our chances, and the likelihood of being sponsored based on the scores. If any damage is done, we have only the interviews to restore our image before the Games begin. As we gather around the television, the escort's knee bouncing nervously, I can tell she's worried for our scores, already thinking ahead to damage control through Caesar Flickerman. Of course, Passion will be fine no matter what, but she's most likely noticed that I have no outstanding skills of my own. Even when talking to Augustus about the interview, our only objective was to come across as nice the best I can, instead of a "monotone robot".

As the Panem national anthem plays, the emblem of the Capitol appears on-screen, accompanied by Caesar Flickerman's familiar face. His wig is a shade of deep purple, easier on the eyes than last year's horrid yellow. He grins immediately before giving his usual speech about the training scores: "This evening we learn of the training scores for the tributes of the 78th Hunger Games. Scored from one to twelve, these scores are an estimate from the Gamemakers themselves of the likeliness of a tribute's victory."

I glance over at Passion, who is sitting pristinely on the sofa, her legs crossed and hands placed on top of them. Despite her best efforts to convince everyone otherwise, I know that Passion cares deeply about what others think of her. She must be nervous about being literally judged in front of the entire nation… on the other hand, I am not at all worried about the Gamemaker's opinions of me. All that matters is that I am in the arena to aid Passion.

"First up, our tributes from District One. Callum Koche… an eight."

An acceptable score. Augustus clearly seems to think so, clapping me on the back while the escort claps her hands rapidly in excitement. Augustus nods his head toward me, a small smile on his face. I turn to Passion again, but she's still staring at the screen, waiting impatiently for my face to fade into hers. I look away, remembering with a sting that it's her score that matters, not mine.

"And for Passion Mavros, a nine."

"That's very good, Passion," Lavish says with a dreary smile, and Passion sits back with a sigh, flipping her hair back.

"I knew I would get no lower than a nine. You all doubted me, I know you did." She fixes her eyes sharply on our entourage, particularly Lavish. "I will show you all what I'm made of."

She stalks away, not bothering to see the rest of the scores. I know she was hoping for a ten, but I hope she isn't too discouraged. A nine is still more than decent for a Career.

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

The pair from One get decent scores, but not remarkable, as predicted. Cyprian fidgets a little beside me when his face appears on-screen, hands twisting in his lap. He doesn't seem like the type to get nervous about things like this, but the longer we stay together here in this apartment I start to wonder if he's more anxious than he lets on.

"For Cyprian Clay of District Two… a nine."

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Cyprian's face falls. HIs mask flickers before he straightens up again, his eyes going blank once again. I can tell the escort is surprised, as are Celia and Cato.

"What happened, Cyprian?" Cato asks, glancing at Celia to see her reaction. "Got stage fright last minute?"

"Apparently the Gamemakers don't appreciate real skill," he says simply, dull eyes staring at the corner of the room. His expression is pinched, like he's not really here but somewhere far away from the Capitol.

I stay silent as I wait for my own score to be revealed. "And for Leto Larston… a ten."

"Oh, how wonderful!" the escort exclaims, clapping excitedly.

"Very good," Celia says approvingly, with a nod of her head and a rare smile at the corner of her lips. I feel a pleased smirk spread over my face despite myself. An eleven would of course be preferable, but a ten is respectable. A nine would be a bit of a let down, but I was fairly confident that that wouldn't happen. But I decide not to tell that to Cyprian, though males from District Two are known for achieving tens most of the time. He has always seemed so powerful in training at the Academy, so I wonder what happened during his session that caused a lower score… but it's none of my business.

"A nine isn't a bad score," I assure him, flashing him a short smile. "The Capitol will see how strong and determined you are. That's all that matters."

I'm not great at comforting people, but it's important that he's confident enough to go into his interview and make a good impression. The Capitol's opinion of him reflects on me as well as District Two as a whole. Not to mention that we will have each other's backs in the arena, and I need him to be as strong and confident as he was back in the Academy. I know I won't be able to go it completely alone in the Games, though I'm prepared for it eventually.

Cyprian simply nods with a furrowed brow. A shadow falls over his eyes, anger and disappointment and even a little bit of fear in his thundering gaze.

 _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_

The Careers have all gotten high scores so far, as expected. From what I saw in training, the pair from Four will score just as high if not higher. What I'm really worried about is my own score. I know that I won't get a real "impressive" score; I'm only hoping for something that doesn't pin me as having no prospects. I'll need sponsors if I want to survive in the arena.

Caillou, on the other hand, doesn't seem too anxious. She's sitting leaned back on the sofa, twirling a curl of hair with her finger while absently nibbling on a cookie provided by the escort. "How are you feeling?" I ask her amiably, trying to seem calm myself. Compared to her, I might seem weak and anxious.

"Fine," she replies with a spacey smile. She shoves the rest of the cookie into her mouth at once and chews thoughtfully as the television screen fades to display my own face.

My back straightens up and my breath catches as Caesar Flickerman begins the announcement. "From District Three, Dylan Bronze… a five."

I lean back so my head is against the back of the pillow, somehow still more tense than Caillou who is lounging carelessly over two seats of the sofa.

"A five is respectable!" my mentor says with a clap on the knee. His smile looks forced, but maybe I'm just imagining it. He's right- it's certainly not the worst score possible, and several victors have won before with lesser scores, though it's not common. My chances aren't over- I just need to make an impression during the interview.

My own face fades on the television screen, and it's replaced with Caillou's distant grin. "And for Caillou Wight… a seven."

"Ah, great!" the mentor exclaims, leaning forward to shoot Caillou a bright smile. "It seems like what we talked about is working!"

I sit in sullen silence as Caillou agrees. It seems that my district partner has somehow found a way to seem special to the Gamemakers… but she doesn't have any allies as far as I know, always training along and only making casual conversation with the other tributes. Meanwhile, I've joined the most powerful alliance in the arena aside from the Careers. We'll see who has a better chance at winning once the Games actually start.

I spin my father's wedding ring around my finger as we wait for the District Four scores to be revealed. It's slightly too big for my ring finger, so I have to wear it on my pointer finger. I remember the words he said to me the day of the Reaping, about how I was one of the smartest tributes that the Capitol would ever see. I may not have the weapons skills of other tributes, but I've been working on my own way to win the Games.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

I yawn and spread out farther over the couch, my golden hair falling past my shoulders artfully and long tan legs crossed in front of me. I've perfected the mask of perfection over the years, hiding all of my flaws and insecurities behind it. Farhoud is practically the opposite, laughing loudly as he chows down on a peach beside me. The juice runs down his chin and he wipes it off with the back of his hand, chuckling again as the screen fades into his own face.

"What do you think my score will be?" he asks me with a grin. "Twelve, or eleven?"

I roll my eyes, but make sure there's no real heat behind it unless he takes offense. "Don't flatter yourself. What did you do during your session, just braid your hair?"

He roars with laughter, slapping his own knee. "I could ask the same of you." His eyes are glittering. I wish I could be as carefree and self-assured as him. Instead I feel my doubt and need for self-destruction simmering under my skin, boiling in my blood. I scratch at the palm of my hand with my long painted nails. I'll have to cut them down before going into the arena, but for now I like spending each night before going to bed painting them as a way to calm myself. I just have to hold on to my sanity until the bloodbath, when I can let myself go a little bit.

"Now onto District Four, Farhoud Pistris… a ten."

Farhoud pumps his fist in the air. "Hell yeah!"

"Thought you were hoping for a twelve," I say in a monotone, trying not to seem concerned about my own upcoming score.

Farhoud ignores me, and Finnick grins at him with his signature twinkle in his eye. "Great job, Farhoud. I'm sure your mother is so proud."

For a moment, Farhoud's face changes to something genuine,a glimmer of affection in his eyes, perhaps even a moment of regret. "I think she is too."

Caesar's voice issues through the television again. "And for Marlowe Bahari… a nine."

My mentor Annie claps loudly beside Finnick. "Wow, great job Marlowe! You're going to do so well!"

Finnick smiles fondly at her, and I give her a vague one as well. Though Annie was a victorious Career for our district, she's definitely changed since her Games. Not exactly the mentor I would have hoped for, but she does her best.

"Thanks, Annie. I was hoping for more, but…"

Farhoud laughs again. "Upset that I got a higher score than you? Pfft." He gets up with a groan and makes for the kitchen, grabbing a brownie from the counter and heading to his room. "I'm going to go do some push-ups!" he yells back with his mouth full.

I sigh and sit up in my seat. "He needs to work on his manners."

"I agree," the escort says with a grimace, but I can see her eyes following the line of his body. She's attracted to him, just like every girl in the Capitol will be after his interview. As much as I don't want to admit it, my district partner might be a great threat in the arena, and not just because of his training score.

 _Volt Halvorrson (18)- D5M_

I laugh at Jabbock Darlson's joke as he smiles nervously, drink in hand. He's been drinking quite a bit since we've arrived in the Capitol, but he's managed to keep his wits about him enough to mentor me. He's mostly useless, but it's nice to simply have his expertise in the world of the Capitol. He's already been helping me with what angle I should go for in the interview, considering I could go in any direction. And though his twitchiness and general air of not wanting to be here can be tiresome, but I need to be on his good side.

"Excited to see your scores?" the escort giggles, shaking Rai's arm. Rai grins, seeming relaxed in a way that I've never seen her before. She usually tries her best to appear carefree and haughty, but I can always see through her mask. But it genuinely seems like she doesn't care about her score, sitting with her legs spread on the couch with the escort beside her.

"I don't care much what my score is," she says evenly. "I know I won't get anything terrible, so what's the point in worrying?"

"Very wise," the escort nods solemnly, as if Rai had truly said something sage.

"I, for one, am incredibly excited," I say with a smirk. But of course, the scores really only matter as far as deciding what angle to go for in the interview. If it's too low for my liking, no matter, I'll just go for a sweet boy whose weapon skills might be lacking, but who makes up for it in charisma. If it's high, I can be cocky and confident, but of course not enough to turn people away.

"And for District Five, Volt Halvorsson… a seven."

I smirk and lean back in my armchair, taking a sip of my whiskey. The Capitol does make very fine alcohol.

"Very good, Volt!" the escort exclaims. I've had her wrapped around my finger easily since we arrived in the Capitol. "The sponsors will see that!"

"Great job, Volt," Jabbock gives me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, but he's doing his best. The hand gripping his whiskey is shaking a little. I know he only wants the night to be over so that he can go to his room and talk with his lady friend back in Five.

"And for Raillen Harkness… a five."

A fairly low score, but I can't say I expected any better from her. But Rai doesn't seem too concerned, simply shrugging her shoulders and brushing a strand of hair behind her ears.

"That's not bad, Rai!" the escort says, gently touching her knee. "And you're so pretty… everyone will _love_ you in the interview."

Rai smiles confidently. "I know."

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

We haven't spent a lot of time with our mentors since arriving in the Capitol, due to their obsession with the morphling. Their habit seems to be fueled even more fiercely here than in Six, where the drug must be easier to come across. My mother would love it here, with all of the available drugs, morphling or otherwise. I imagine the stress and horrible pressure of mentoring two tributes has something to do with their worsening conditions as well, but that doesn't make me any more sympathetic to them. I eye them suspiciously as they nibble on cheese together on the sofa. Logan and I are sitting beside each other in two plush armchairs as we stare at the television screen.

As Rai's face fades from the screen, I can see Logan in the corner of my eye shifting uncomfortably. "Our alliance is coming along great," he says with a pointed lilt in his voice, as if unsure if they were even listening. "We're the Careers' biggest rivals in years. Maybe even since that alliance in the Games that were in the swamp arena…"

"The 64th Hunger Games!" the escort exclaims. "Those were so exciting! I remember those like they were last year."

"The girl from District One won that year though, right?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow. I can see her smug, infuriating smirk in my mind.

"Cashmere, yes!" the escort claps. "One of my favorites, honestly."

I roll my eyes, and glance over at Logan. He looks a little conflicted. "We can learn from the other alliance's mistakes. We're strong, right Pagani?"

I try to smile at him, but my mouth simply isn't used to it. "Yes."

We don't have much more time to talk about it before Logan's face appears on-screen. "From District Six… Logan Wheeler with a seven."  
The escort starts applauding again, trilling happily. "How wonderful, Logan! You're going to do so well in the Games!"

Logan smiles weakly, but I can see that he's a little disappointed. "Thanks."

"And for Pagani Chevy… a six."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but I'm not sure if I'm pleased or let-down. I have no idea what I expected.

"Not a bad score," Logan says gently. He smiles so much more easily than I do, his facial muscles accustomed to the strain. "Once you explain that you live on the street, people will know you've been surviving on your own all this time."

"I haven't exactly been doing it on my own," I say simply. "I had an alliance even then. That's why we need each other."

 _Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M_

Since Johanna had sent for medicine from the Gamemakers, I've been amazed at the change I've felt. My thoughts are sharper, my body is stronger, the sound of my laughter reaching my ears more often than before. I can tell Sparrow has noticed as well, her smiles coming easier. Even now, as we sit waiting for the Gamemakers' judgements of us and our abilities to survive, I feel far more energized and optimistic than I have in ages. Capitolite medicine really works wonders.

I better enjoy it while I can. Delivering medicine to me in the arena will be expensive, and I'm not the one that's going to survive anyway. Sparrow needs to be the one that makes it out with that golden crown on her dark head of hair. As far as I'm concerned, this score is an estimate of how successful I'll be in helping her live, not my own likelihood of survival.

"I can tell you're feeling better," Johanna says passingly.

"Yes," I say with a grin. "I wish Seven had this stuff. Why don't they send this down to us?"

"Beats me," she says, but her set jaw tells me otherwise. "I recognized your symptoms since I had a cousin once who died from the swamp disease. Tuberculosis."

"I'm sorry," I offer genuinely.

"You must have been working down in the dangerous parts of the woods," she says with her eyes scanning me up and down, making me shift uncomfortably. "You take good care of your sister."

"I do my best," I say. For some reason I feel a flush rise on my cheeks and quickly look away. Sparrow is staring at the screen, where my face is appearing.

"From District Seven, Raven Lavalée… with an eight."

"Amazing!" the escort cries out. "That's great, Raven. You've been doing so well!"

Sparrow is giving me a rare grin, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Good job, Raven," she says softly.

"Not bad," Johanna admits. "And I know you'll do well in your interview."

I lean back with an exaggerated sigh, crossing my legs. "What can I say… I'm just so lovable."

Sparrow rolls her eyes at me and I laugh with a hand on her shoulder, shaking her just slightly. "You know that I'm right."

"Whatever. It's my turn now."

"And for little Sparrow Lavalée… a five."

"Not bad either," I say with a grin, ruffling her hair. She slaps my hand away, blushing.

"It's not good at all."

"Don't say that," Johanna says suddenly. "A five isn't bad, definitely not at your age. Twelve year olds are in the game now after that little fucker from Eight, don't forget that."

"Tag Nylon scored an eight," she mumbles, looking down.

"Don't put yourself down," I say. "We live in Seven, where we know all about how to survive. He grew up in dirty Eight, with no wildlife at all. And did you already forget what I scored, huh?"

She looks up at me, and for a second, I see a flash of awareness for a moment. The realization that only one of us will make it out of these Games alive. It's a sobering thought, but that's the reality we're in now.

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

I remember all the times I spent sitting in the sitting room with my family as the training scores aired. I never cared much for the Hunger Games events, barely paying attention to the pageant as I never thought it would never really affect my life. The only training score I really remember are Tag and Sock's from last year, when the two twelve-year olds scored an eight and a seven, much higher than anyone in the district expected.

I glance at Tag, who is sitting beside Thimble in his own armchair, frowning at the television screen. His small frame is dwarfed by our other mentor, who is nearing thirty. It's strange to think that our mentor is younger than even me. I wonder if he will disown us if we score lower than he did.

Thimble's face appears on-screen, and he sits up straight with a nervous glint in his eye, breaking through his cold demeanor. The silver locket around his neck glimmers in the light. "From District Eight… Thimble Brier, with a six."

The escort nods approvingly. "Great job, Thimble. Not bad at all."

"A six is respectable," Tag says with a soft smile.

"Let's see what I get," I declare, leaning forward and jiggling my leg. "I bet I can score higher than you."

"Whoever wins gets the last piece of cake," Thimble says with a smirk. It's crazy to think he wouldn't be so open with me when we met a mere five days ago.

I stare intently at the screen. The Capitol makes great cake, with cherries, chocolate, and thick rich frosting. "For Flux DuBois… a six."

Thimble hits me lightly on the arm. "I guess we have to share."

"Fine," I huff, but I'm not upset. Training scores don't mean much, and I won't get all worked up about them. A six is just as high as I could have expected.

"I hear you guys are teaming up with the pair from Seven," Tag asks as Thimble gets up to retrieve the last slice of cake. As Thimble ignores him, he turns to me and looks intently in my eyes.

"Yep," I say.

"The twelve-year old and the sick one."

"You were twelve years old," I argue, preparing to tell him off the same way I did Passion during training. I don't care if he's my mentor, we know what we're doing.

"I'm not trying to criticize you," he backs off, a hand raised. Thimble returns with the cake split onto two plates, handing me one. "You know what's best for your alliance, trust me. Seb trusted Sock and I last year, and now here I am." He looks pained at the mention of his departed allies, but he quickly composes himself. "I just want to make sure you're making smart decisions."

"Raven and Sparrow are strong, both of them," Thimble says, spooning a bite of cake into his mouth. His eyes are bright with enjoyment, when once they were dull. "We'll all make it far."

"You know, there's an Avox staircase that connects the Seven and Eight floors," Tag says, looking pained. "Seb used it to come talk to us. I can show you where it is."

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

The only thought in my mind as I watch the screen is that Kaia is watching at home. I think back to the kiss that we shared in the Justice Building, how fiercely she had grabbed my collar and pulled me closer to her. That can't be the first, last, and only time we share a kiss, but this night might make or break my chances of ever seeing her again. If the Capitol doesn't think me a strong contender for victor, I won't be receiving any gifts in the arena. And I know I wouldn't be able to survive without any extra food or water that I might need. It's a strange feeling- I usually don't care at all what other people think of me, always so sure of myself and what I'm doing.

"Blossom, why don't you go put on some shoes?"

The escort's voice brings me out of my reverie. I glance down to Blossom's bare feet, lying flat on the floor, moving back and forth to feel the plushness between her toes. The two of them have had this argument since training began, Blossom refusing to wear shoes to training as the escort scolds her endlessly. Yesterday morning, she tried to sneak out to the elevator without her uniform shoes on, but the escort caught her and practically forced them on her feet.

"Why do I need to wear them?" Blossom asks mildly, eyes glued to the screen.

"It's polite," the escort says primly, trying to remain composed. "Especially since you won't let me care for your feet. You could really use a pedicure, you know."

I understand what she means- Blossom's feet and rough and calloused from apparently wandering around barefoot all the time.

Blossom doesn't deign her with an answer, simply watching the television as my own face appears, nibbling on an apple covered in hard caramel, a monstrosity I'd never heard of before arriving to the Capitol, but Blossom has loved anything sweet that the Avoxes serve her.

"From District Nine, Alder Kasha with… a seven."

I let out a long breath. A seven isn't big, in fact it's quite good considering I have no practical experience with harvesting in the fields due to my age, only learning from proximity. I touch the brass pin that Kaia gave me, pinned to my shirt and close my eyes.

"Very good, Alder," I hear my mentor say. His voice is mildly impressed, but I can tell he's just as guarded with me as I am with him.

"Thanks," I mumble, peeking an eye open to see Blossom's score as well.

"And for Blossom Urakaka… a seven."

I turn to see Blossom's gently satisfied expression.

"Not bad," I murmur. She turns to look at me, her greenish-blue eyes reflecting just as much wariness.

"Thank you," she says politely. "Yours wasn't either."

We share one more glance before looking away. At least in a way, we understand each other.

 _Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F_

I yawn as I watch Caesar Flickerman slowly- _far too slowly_ \- goes through the training scores. I tried to get the mentors to let me stay in my room alone instead of sitting here, but they insisted that I "sit still for once" and watch the training scores. They don't understand that this announcement doesn't mean shit to me. I know what score I'll get. I know what my strategy is- I don't need anyone to explain to me how to cheat the system of the Hunger Games. It worked for Johanna Mason a few years ago, not that I necessarily plan to fool everyone into thinking I'm a weakling. I'm sure they'll all be able to tell from one look that I'm not to be trifled with. But I'm not going to let these murderous idiots learn anything about me- my ability level or anything else.

"How do you think you did?" Jeremy ask me politely. He's always doing his best to appear the golden boy. To think of it, he reminds me of Panem's favorite son Augustus Braun from One.

I roll my eyes and focus on the screen, where his own face is appearing. "Do you really care? Now that you've joined the Careers you have everything set."

The mentors and escort beam brightly, all proud as ever to have a tribute who was skilled enough to team up with the Careers. They probably don't give a shit about me or what I'll score, not until I prove them all wrong in the arena.

"From District Ten… for Jeremy Caulfield, an eight."

"Very good!" the escort exclaims, but Jeremy only sits back and shakes his head. Apparently he was hoping for more, but I don't know what else he expected from a butcher's son with three days of training.

"And now for Caiden Clawford… a two."

I let out a contented sigh, but my mentor growls across the room. "What did you do, Caiden?"

"I showed them how I felt," I replied delicately.

"These scores affect your survival in the Games!" she scolds, like I'm a small child who doesn't understand basic math.

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think you are too proud to take advice, even if it might save your life."

I stand suddenly, fuming. "Shut the hell up! I know what's best for me, and you don't! The Capitol can force me to fight to the death, but you can't force to change how I act!"

I stomp away, ignoring the hushed murmurs behind me. They can say whatever they want, but I know myself better than anyone. They can coddle and fawn over Jeremy as much as they want, the stuck-up, tight-assed butcher's son. I don't need anyone but myself.

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

I lounge out over the couch, sipping on my blackberry peach lemonade. Though both these fruits are grown in Eleven, we rarely get the chance to taste them. I must say, they're quite good, especially here in the cushy comfort of the Capitol, with no pressure to go out in the orchards tomorrow. Instead, we can only look forward to being broadcasted to the entire nation to be judged.

I can feel Luna's tiny frame shivering beside mine on the other end of the couch, which we share with my body covering most of it. "Want a blanket?" I ask, reaching over to the armchair to pull out a plush cover. "You're shivering."

"Sure," she says quietly, reaching for it. I place the blanket around her, tucking it in under her thin legs, which are far too small for her age by Capitol standards. She smiles at me, and I strangely feel a strange sensation tug at my heart. I never had any siblings, but I imagine that this what it feels like.

"From District Eleven…"

Our heads both snap to the television.

"For Thorn Guerra… a six."

I lean back in my seat, satisfied. I don't really care about these scores, of course, but it's nice to know that the Capitol won't completely write me off as a weakling, but I guess the Gamemakers weren't impressed by my trapping skills.

"And for Luna Everett… a six."

Luna squeals and claps her hands, then flushes like she's ashamed of her reaction. I smile at her and pat her on the back. A six is an impressive score for a twelve-year old, clearly over-shadowing mine, but I'm not upset. Two sixes in an alliance are a yellow light for sponsors, neither good nor bad. We have the interviews to change their minds for the better.

"You two are doing good," Seeder says from her own seat, her lips pressed together. I can tell she's been trying to be more helpful and less explosive. "Thorn… you've really changed in these last few days. I'm sorry I yelled at you… and you too, Luna."  
Luna's face is fierce and unsure, like she doesn't know how to respond. "Thanks…" she says. "You know, I'm not bloodbath fodder like you said."

"I know you're not," Seeder smiles tiredly. "You two need to make sure to take care of each other."

"I'll do my best," I say dryly. "I'm not afraid of death, Luna."  
But even as I say it, my stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of dying, never seeing or hearing or tasting anything ever again.

 _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_

The problem with being in District Twelve is that we're last for everything. By the time Rylex's face appears on the screen, I'm impatient to see our scores, rolling my head back on the couch with annoyance.

"Took them long enough," I huff, my knee bouncing.

"Nervous?" Rylex asks with a sly grin. "Not like you."

"I don't get nervous," I snap, frowning. "I just want to go to bed."

"Whatever." Rylex pulls his legs up to his chest and stares at the screen. He's the one that seems anxious, gulping as Caesar Flickerman clears his throat for the final district.

"From District Twelve… Rylex Steele with a seven."  
"Yeah!" Rylex grins, letting his legs fall back to the floor. "Beat that, Terra!" he exclaims with a playful twinkle in his eye.

"It's not a competition," I mutter, but I feel my blood pulsing through my veins. I would never let anyone know, but I am... _concerned_ about the training scores. I know they determine what the Capitol thinks of us, and the only thing I have to make up for it is my interview.

"For Terra Flint… a six."

"Great job, Terra," Rylex says, reaching to touch my arm.

A six isn't too bad, just average. No one will criticize me, but it's not a stand-out score either. A six has the same chances of dying in the bloodbath or ending up winning.

"You two are doing great!" Effie squeals, grinning at us."

"Do you think the Capitol will arrest me if I tell them I'm a pickpocket?" I ask sarcastically. "I know how to sneak around and how to use a knife."

Effie gasps, as if she didn't already suspect that was my profession.

"They'll see that in the arena," Rylex dismisses me with amusement, groaning as he stands up and offers a hand to help me do the same. I smile as I take it. I'm lucky to have a district partner who is friendly and capable of surviving. "Let's go to bed."

"Fine," I sigh, glancing around the room as we head back to the bedrooms. Haymitch is sitting in the kitchen, drink in hand and eyes half-closed. He hasn't been the most helpful mentor, but at least he leaves us alone and doesn't bother us. I've always lived independently, and I'll continue to do so until I die in that arena or make it out alive.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! What do you think of the training scores?**

 **I also have a sad announcement- the good news for me is that I'm going on a trip to Italy for six weeks. The bad news is that I don't know if I'll have time to write, or if I'll even have wifi where I'm going. In other words, we might have to go on hiatus for a month before the interviews come out. I know this sucks. On the other hand, if there is wifi and I do have time to write, then I might still be able to update when I have the chance. Essentially I just don't know. I'm really sorry about this but this might be the last update for a long time. Hope you all don't forget about the tributes during the hiatus, but maybe the interviews will help reintroduce them. Thanks again!**


	22. The Interviews: Part 1

**Hey everyone! I imagine you're all eager to read the next chapters of the story after my absence. I'm very sorry about the long wait- after returning from my trip I came right to school and have been dealing with some personal things/issues, but I've found some time to write. This is the first half of the tribute interviews, and the other half is about halfway finished as well! I hope the interviews will be a good refresher on each of the tributes and their backgrounds and personalities. Thanks for being so patient.**

 **Onward!**

* * *

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

I'm sure my grin is wide and sparkling as I rake my eyes over my interview outfit for the first time. The dress is black as coal, calling back to my iconic parade look. The back is open down to my waist, and one shoulder is bare as well, exposing my pale skin. The skirt is short enough to be provocative while still maintaining my innocence. Best of all, I can feel the tag against my neck that proclaims, _Mavros Inc._ One of my ultimate dreams has always been to wear one of my parents' luxury dresses to my Capitol interview, and now it has finally come to fruition.

"Your parents truly do make the best black fashion in Panem," the stylist says excitedly. I can tell she's happy to style a Mavros child- probably an honor that most stylists would covet. "I have their panther fur couch in my living room, and it's the most amazing piece of furniture I've ever had!"

Though I can tell that she's sucking up, she isn't wrong. "Thank you," I smile, taking a sip of the white wine that the prep team provided for me. I can't wait to get onstage with Caesar, but a glass of wine will loosen me up for a more memorable experience.

I felt the stylist who is curling my hair tense up as I drink my wine in case I spill it on myself, or worse she burns my scalp. As I lower the glass, she lets loose a ringlet of hair that reaches my shoulder. I can't wait to see the final product. I'm sure I'll look great next to Callum, who at my request will have a matching outfit of a plain black suit. He shouldn't stand out, but everyone should know that we're teamed up.

Only minutes later, and all twenty-four of us are lined up in the corridor, with me right in front, as it should always be. Callum was bouncing nervously on his heels, and I noticed that his suit was accented with a blue tie and some swirling decorations on the jacket, matching his blue eyes. He looks handsome in a classical way.

"You look nice," I admit to him, and he glances up in surprise before smiling.

"Thank you," he says, which is the only words he can get out before the stage assistants start racing down the halls, stopping all conversation in the hallway as we eagerly await our turn.

"It's about time," Farhoud complains loudly from down the hallway. "We've been waiting here for _hours_."

A slight exaggeration, but I agree. It's time that we move on and give the Capitol what they want- an interview with their newest golden girl. I can already taste my victor's interview, see myself on the large screen that is projecting Caesar's grinning face as he delivers the introduction to the show. And one day, even marrying Augustus Braun as we become the golden couple, or some other victor if I can't nab him. And then our child entering the Games to become a second generation victor.

I'm jolted out of my fantasies as an assistant pats me on the back to push me forward.

"Rude!" I huff under my breath as he leads me to the backstage area, right behind the doors which will open to reveal me to the nation. I put on my best winning smile as the assistant leaves, already talking to someone else in his headpiece and not paying me any attention. I try not to read too much into it and instead focus on my interview- I already know that I'm going to kill it and be the most popular female Career in decades.

"And now for our first tribute, a girl who has already made a splash in the Capitol, dare I say a gem of District One, Passion Mavros!"

The sliding doors immediately disappear, revealing a screaming audience of Capitolites. I grin and wink to some of the audience members close to the stage as I saunter to my chair. I've practiced this moment several times even before coming to the Capitol, not to mention my time spent with Lavish going over my interview angle. The stage is glittering with lights and cameras, and I smile directly into their lenses while fluttering my eyelashes.

"Welcome, Passion!" Caesar exclaims as I sit in my white chair. It contrasts nicely with my black dress and hair. I cross my legs gracefully, while still making sure my skirt rides up just slightly.

"It's great to meet you Caesar," I say charismatically. "You look dashing today."

It's true- his deep purple hair is the same color of his suit, bejeweled with glimmering stones that reflect the light.

"I really like your color this year," I say with a smirk. "Not nearly as bad as some of the others."

"Why thank you!" Caesar proclaims proudly, adjusting his suit jacket. "For once I don't want to kill my stylists!"

The crowd laughs at the non-joke, and I snicker along with them.

"Speaking of styling, what an entrance into the Capitol! You certainly made quite an impression!"

There are several hoots and hollers from the crown in approval, and I turn to smirk in their direction. "Yes, that was the idea."

"Were you nervous about wearing such a… revealing outfit?"

"Not at all,"I chirp truthfully. "I know I have nothing to be ashamed of. I was just sad I didn't get to wear one of my father's designs for the Parade, but I knew I would have a specially-made one for today." I stand and pose to show the audience my dress, all soft black satin with sharp edges. The applause tells me everything I need to know, and I sit back down with a smug smile.

"It's gorgeous!" Caesar exclaims. "My, Mavros Inc. always makes the most beautiful clothing!"  
"And furniture, and jewelry, and cars… anything you need in black, which is everything," I announce proudly.

Caesar laughs. "I've always wondered why your parents only make items in black. Do you have an answer for us?"

"Well…" I say thoughtfully, though I've practiced my answer over and over. "Everyone has a light and a dark side. You just have to choose which will prevail. For me, there was never a question."

The audience seems to like my answer, and Caesar nods, impressed. "Is that why you volunteered for the Hunger Games? They are a mixture of both light and dark, of course, but the darkness is always what interests us the most."

I can tell the audience wasn't expecting a philosophical conversation, but they're enjoying it. "Yes, I think so," I say with a pleasant smile. "I volunteered on a split second decision to see what I could offer the nation. But for real Caesar, you've worn all the colors in the rainbow before. You should know which one is best!"

Caesar looks toward the audience incredulously as the audience hollers with laughter, and my interview is over with the sound of the loud beep. Unbothered, my heels click on the floor as I make my way to my seat at the foot of the stage. I'm looking forward to seeing Callum's interview, as well as whatever he says about me.

"And now for our next tribute, Callum Koche!"

Callum slouches as he walks to his seat, eyes on the ground. I expected as much from him, but I hope he can at least charm the Capitol a little- a sponsor for him means a sponsor for me. He sits still with a posture like he's trying to curl in on himself, but he actually doesn't seem too afraid. He meets Casear's eyes with an unsure smile, and Caesar greets him jovially.

"It's nice to meet you Callum! How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," he says, slightly too soft for the mic to pick it up.

Caesar smiles but raises an eyebrow. He's surely dealt with quiet or unwilling tributes before, but usually not from Career districts. "Your district partner Passion said she volunteered on a whim. Was it the same for you?"  
"We decided it together," he said, more confidently now.

"Oh, are you two close?"

A romance would certainly warm the Capitol to us, but Callum speaks the truth: "Yes, I'm the Mavros family cook. We became close that way."

"Wow," Caesar seems impressed. "So you decided to improve your family's social station by volunteering for the Hunger Games."

"Well…" Callum says uncertainly. "My family has always enjoyed serving the Mavroses. But… I consider it an honor to represent my district, the great District One." The words sound incredibly rehearsed, but they are always a peaple-pleaser for the Capitol, and I'm sure they're true regardless. Callum is all about that loyalty shit- that's why I need him.

"Of course, of course," Caesar nods approvingly. "Your family must be so proud! You said they are all servants to the Mavros family?"

"Yes, for generations," Callum says solemnly. "Fidelity and obedience are in our blood, Hunger Games included."

The crowd erupts into applause. Augustus' mentoring skills are truly phenomenal- he's managed to turn boring, no-personality Callum into an admirable patriot without him even knowing it.

The timer goes off not long after, and Callum smiles gratuitously at the cameras before stoically coming down to sit beside me. He doesn't say a word to me, eyes fixed on the stage. I have to say I'm impressed- we'll get sponsors for sure with my charming interview and his own, which certainly stood out from most Careers.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

"Do you have some time?"

I look over to see Volt standing in the doorway of my dressing room, and I freeze. His black hair falls into his icy blue eyes, which pierce me with an intent gaze. I gulp as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe.

"Hello?"

I clear my throat. "What do you want?"

He glances around the dressing room, completely clear of stylists, and his eyes land back on me, already made up in my ruby red suit, complete with a golden sash that hangs over my shoulder and wraps around my waist. I look like a beacon of courage and victory already, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

"I just wanted to talk to you for a second." He slowly closes the door behind him, cloaking us in darkness. The only light comes from the crack under the door. Despite my furrowed brow and intimidating muscles that are a great contrast to his skinny noodle arms, he doesn't seem afraid in the slightest.

"You know you will be punished if you try to start a fight before the Games," I warn him. "And that you'll lose."

Volt chuckles in amusement. "I'm not foolish enough to try to fight you in hand-to-hand combat. I don't think anyone here would attempt that. That's why I'm here." He smiles with a hint of arrogance in his eyes. I don't want to admit how it makes my cheeks flush.

"So why are you here?"

"Because I've seen the way you look at me from across the training center," he grins. "And the way you've skirted around me in the bathroom as if you were afraid I would talk to you."

I swallow nervously. "I just don't want to talk to outer-districts like you. Now get out of my dressing room before _I_ start a fight."

Volt raises an eyebrow at me with a smirk, but does as he's told. I sigh just as Leto's name is announced, and I follow in Volt's footsteps to the line in the hallway. I pass him in line without looking at him, taking my place now at the front. Leto is sitting proudly on screen beside Caesar with her legs crossed,sitting pristinely upright with a respectful smile. Her dress is a forest green that compliments her darker skin and black hair, satin flowing around her legs. Her hair is curled around her face, her chest decorated with crisscrossed green and gold lines. Her golden shoes are glinting in the light, as well as her large necklace and dangling earrings. A weaved crown of golden leaves and green twigs adorns her head.

"Our beautiful Leto Larston, how are you doing today?"

"I'm doing great, Caesar," Leto says with a smile. "I'm excited for the Games."

"I'm sure you are," he nods. "You were one of only two ten-scorers in this year's crop of tributes. Are you proud of such an impressive score?"

"Of course, Caesar, but I didn't expect anything less," she replies coolly. "I wasn't surprised."

"Such confidence!" Caesar exclaims, looking to the crowd for a reaction.

Leto smiles politely. "Thank you, Caesar. When you work hard for your goals, you will never have a reason to doubt yourself."

Caesar nods as if she's said something deeply philosophical. "Well, your hard work has surely paid off! Did any of your family members teach you that?"

"My father has always taught me the meaning of patriotism and work ethic," she smiles, this one looking distant and genuine. "That's why I always wanted to be a Peacekeeper. It was my dream for the longest time, but I decided to volunteer instead to support my father. If I win, he'll never have to struggle to make money again."

"Such a noble and selfless tribute!" Caesar proclaims as the audience begins clapping and hooting in agreement. "Am I right? This is what I like to see!"

Leto just smiles as she gazes over the heads of her adoring supporters, eyes actually twinkling for a moment. As the crowd dies down, Caesar leans in for another question. "Are you afraid you might never see your father again, or that you might not give him the life you want for him?"

The atmosphere is somber immediately, but Leto doesn't falter. "Anything is possible of course, but I'm not afraid of death. I know that I have what it takes to win, and that's all that matters to me."

The timer goes off and the audience applauds again, Leto standing to wave at the crowd. She leaves the stage with a flourish of her skirt and I feel my heart jump into my throat. It's my turn now, and Volt has thrown me off my game with his very wrong assumptions. Luckily I've known what my interview angle will be for years, and it doesn't involve a lot of talking.

The assistants lead me backstage, and I professionally replace my fearful expression with a cool, calm one that I've perfected over the years. My stylist had painted my eyelids with a light shade of red that will sparkle in the light, acdenting my red and gold outfit. I can only imagine that with a brooding demeanor, I'll come across as a murderous devil.

"And now for our second tribute from District Two, a tall dark and mysterious man who has already captured the hearts of many a woman in Panem, Cyprian Clay!"  
The sliding doors open and I give the cameras my signature menacing stare as I make my way to Caesar. My heart is beating fast in my chest, but I"ve learned long ago to channel my nerves into a glare instead of a blush.

"Welcome, Cyprian!" Caesar chirps while shaking my hand. I nod in acknowledgement, sitting down while adjusting my sash so that it doesn't bunch up. "And what an outfit! YOu already look like a victor!"

I nod stoically.

"Are you excited for the Hunger Games?" Caesar asks, still keeping up the energy. Only one more day to go!"  
"I'm ready to fight," I say truthfully. "It's what I came here to do."

"Well, you certainly look intimidating!" Caesar exclaims. "Not to mention handsome. Anyone waiting for you back home?"

"No." Perhaps I answered too quickly due to Volt's advances, but Caesar doesn't dwell on it.

"Well, many young women here in the Capitol are pleased about that, I'm sure!"

The crowd applauds in agreement, and I turn to them with an incredulous look in my eye.

"It's true!" Caesar assures me. "So what is your reason for volunteering for these Games?"

My real reasons are too hard to explain and probably not Capitol-friendly: wanting to escape my parents' mistreatment and prove myself worthy of achieving anything, not to anyone else but just to myself… not something I think Caesar would want to hear. "I want to prove myself to the nation and represent District Two in the Hunger Games," I say. That's all I have, but apparently it's enough for the audience and Caesar, who nods approvingly.

"District Two has been on quite a victory streak for some time now," Caesar says with a knowing smile. "With three wins in the past seven years, is it hard to live up to that pressure? The tributes in the last Games had somewhat of a disappointing run," he makes an exaggerated twisted expression, like he himself was disappointed instead of delighted to see Hadrian and Rufina die bloody deaths.

"I know I will win," I say shortly, because I know that's what he wants to hear and because I don't know what else to say. It might not be entirely true- I do have my moments of doubt. But this is what I came here to do, and I will try my best as I always have.

The timer goes off before Caesar can respond, and the audience applauds as I shake his hand on more time before leaving. I realize upon arriving at my seat that I've been glowering at nothing, and try to smooth out my face to seem more relaxed. Leto smiles coolly at me as I approach.

"Good job," she says simply. "You're a natural at that."

"At what?"

She chuckles a little. "At being all mysterious and brooding. You'll have the ladies lining up for you if you win."

I raise an eyebrow. "You think I could?"

She side-eyes me with a genuine glint in her eye that I've never seen before, usually so serious and blank. "Well, if it's not me, I hope it's you. You deserve it and you're from District Two, after all."

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

In the darkness behind the stage, it's frighteningly easy to slip into my own head and forget where I am, run on autopilot. I do my best to blink it away and stay aware of my surroundings. I don't want to let a shadowy version of myself do this entire interview- I need to make a good impression. I think my outfit will do enough to earn me some attention at least- the flowy cotton skirt that reaches my mid-thigh is the same light blue as the hair ribbon I took as a token. It's wrapped around my right wrist, just underneath the sleeve of my black velvet top. It covers almost all of my upper half aside from my chest, which is open in a wide triangle. Definitely an eye-catcher. My unruly hair has been brushed into its maximum bushiness, a bit of glitter added to enhance the effect.

"And now our next tribute…" Caesar begins, and I stiffly stand up straight. "The girl whose hair and electric entrance has infatuated the nation, Caillou Wight!"  
The sliding doors open instantly and I step out, a slight smile on my face as my eyes glide over the crowd. Their faces blur into one as I walk slowly to my seat, the applause deafening. Caesar is standing when I reach him, hand held out with a grin. I shake it gently, sitting in my chair and stretching out comfortably.

"How are you, beautiful Caillou?" Caesar asks. His grin reveals his scarily white teeth that reflect the light.

"I'm doing great," I say easily, crossing my ankles lazily.

"Enjoying yourself in the Capitol?"

"Oh, yes," I say, feeling my hair bob as I nod my head. "I like the food and the colors," I say spacily.

"Colors?" Caesar asks with a light laugh, looking to the audience for a reaction. "What do you mean?"

"You know, the color scheme," I say. "District Three is very gray. Here everywhere you look there's ads, buildings, shops, and they're all colorful."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard that one before in all my years here," Caesar says with an incredulous laugh, but he seems interested.

"I'm not the first artist to be on this stage," I say sardonically. "There are plenty of artist victors. I would love to design clothes, paint, anything like that if I end up winning. The fashion is another thing I love here in the Capitol."

"Well, your outfit is gorgeous!" Caesar exclaims, much to the assent of the audience. "Maybe you'll be designing for future tributes one day."  
"Victors don't design for other tributes," I smile distantly.

"Yes, yes, of course," Caesar says, pulling at his collar in mock nervousness while everyone laughs. "What do you miss most about District Three?" he asks, changing gears. I feel my easy smile falter slightly, and I almost retreat into my safe bubble inside my head, but I force myself to stay in the moment.

I realize I've taken too long to answer, probably seeming unfocused. "I'd say I miss my brother," I say. "His name is Sedrick, and we've always been very close."

The audience coos, and I look over the sea of heads again, focusing in on a few with are adorned with flowers, jewels, brightly colored hair and skin. It truly is so different compared to what I've grown up with.

The timer goes off in that moment, and I steadily stand and adjust my skirt before floating down to the seating area. I sit beside Cyprian, who doesn't spare me a glance, but I don't mind. I feel fairly good about the interview, and that's all I can ask for. My goal is only to survive the bloodbath.

"Next up, our other tribute that has electrified the Capitol, Dylan Bronze!"

Dylan is standing stock still when the doors slide open suddenly, but as the spotlight finds him he abruptly smiles and starts walking toward Caesar. His suit is bright yellow, contrasting greatly with his blue eyes and black hair. The collar rises around his neck like his head is a blooming flower, baggy yellow pants around his legs tucked into black boots. His eyes are wide with fear, but he smiles uneasily as Caesar takes his hand. He takes a while to sit, but sits up straight with perfect posture.

"It's great to meet you, Dylan!" Caesar exclaims.

"You too, Caesar," Dylan says shyly.

"So, how are you liking the Capitol so far?" Caesar seems to sense that this won't be an easy interview.

"I like it a lot," Dylan says with an uncertain smile, but it makes him look endearing. "But I miss my family."

"Ah," Caesar nods knowingly, as if he understands at all the feeling of being torn from your home. "Any brothers or sisters? Parents?"

"Just parents," he answers. "My father is a schoolteacher and I work at a factory with my mother making electrical parts."

"Wow, a studious and hard-working man!" Caesar appeals to the crowd, a few people hooting in agreement.

Dylan smiles in pride, his shoulders loosening a little. "I do prioritize school, of course," he says eagerly. "I want to support my family. Winning the Hunger Games means I would be able to take care of everyone I care about, including the entire district."

"I'm sure they would be very grateful," Caesar grins. "Could you tell us how you plan to do that?"

Dylan stutters for a moment before saying sweetly, "Sorry, I can't reveal my plans. But… let's just say that some of the other tributes and I have been training together, and we're pretty strong." He sounds confident enough that Caesar leans in for more.

"Oh? Who are these other tributes?"

Dylan's smile fades as if he's realized he's dug himself into a hole. "Well, I'll let them decide if they want to come forward. But we're a force to be reckoned with."

"I bet you are!" Caesar says. "What do you think you bring to this alliance that is crucial to its success?"

"Definitely my intelligence," Dylan pipes up. "I'm the top of my class in school and I've learned as much as I could in training. I don't just use weapons to fight, but my brain as well."

The timer goes off half a second later, to the loud applause of the crowd. Caesar points to Dylan as he leaves the stage. "Dylan Bronze, everyone!"

Dylan hurries to his seat beside me. His eyes are glazed and unfocused from adrenaline, but he seems pleased with himself. I give him a mysterious friendly smile as I lounge in my chair. Dylan will be easy to imitate in the arena, but some of the other tributes might be harder. I need to pay attention to each interview for future use.

 _Farhoud Pistris (18)- D4M_

I smirk to myself as I watch Marlowe head backstage with the assistants. She looks gorgeous as usual in a glittery pale blue dress with tassels dangling from the revealing hem. Her name is called in no time, and she walks out with her heels clicking, blowing kisses to the crowd. The v-neck certainly accentuates her cleavage in a way the stylists certainly intended. The back is also completely open down to her waist, slits also running up the sides. She might as well be wearing a tattered piece of cloth, except the material is clearly worth more than a house in Four. She glitters like a jewel as she sits daintily in her white plush seat.

"Welcome, Marlowe!" Caesar greets her. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Why thank you, Caesar!" Marlowe flips her golden curls over her shoulder, eyes crinkling happily. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?" She poses with her hand under her jaw as the crowd goes wild. I snort to myself, but I wouldn't expect anything else from Marlowe's interview angle.

"I think I'm in love with my stylist," Marlowe admits with a giggle. "The clothes here are so much better quality than in Four. I'm not missing the secondhand outlet fashion that my family always bought me."

Caesar nods in understanding. "At least you have a loving family to try and buy you the latest fashion! How do you think they feel about you volunteering for the Hunger Games?"  
"They totally support me!" Marlowe chirps. "Not to mention that when I win, they'll have a victor in the family. What more could they ask for?"

"Well, I'm sure you've made them proud," Caesar says with a smile. "A score of a nine is impressive! What can you tell us about your skills we might see in the Games?"

Marlowe opens her mouth for a moment, then closes it with a look of realization. She narrows her blue eyes and shakes a finger at Caesar while the crowd laughs. Caesar dons an innocent expression as Marlowe laughs easily. "You know I can't tell you quite yet. But just wait until you see me in that bloodbath. I'll be there with my baton, slicing people up left and right."

"Baton?" Caesar asks with interest. "What a unique weapon!"

"I think it fits me," Marlowe says smugly. "Delicate but deadly."

Caesar nods in approval. "Well, you've proven yourself a formidable opponent. It's a good tagline. I'm sure Finnick came up with that one, given how airheaded Marlowe is. But the Capitol likes them that way- her interview will garner attention from both interested men and envious women alike. She will have hordes of admirers.

"What else can you tell us about your life back home?" Caesar presses. "Any boys we should be worried about?"

Marlowe ducks her head down as if embarrassed, but she's smiling when she looks back up. "My boyfriend, Reggie. I love you and miss you, honey!" She waves to the camera with both hands and blows a kiss. The entire audience cooes in adoration.

"How sweet!" Caesar clutches at his heart. "How long have you been together?"

"A few years now," Marlowe says airily. "We've been through so much together, and this is just another step in our journey."

Caesar sighs dreamily at that. "A relationship anyone would admire. So parents, a boyfriend… any siblings?"

Marlowe's smile falters for a split second, and she looks down to play with her fingers, nails painted a bright blue and decorated with little starfish and shells. "I did have a sister… but she died before I was born, when she was seven."

The studio is silent now, only the sound of Marlowe's breathing caught by her mic filling up the empty air. "I think that's why my parents spoil me so much," she smiles painfully. "I know they wouldn't want to lose another daughter. That's why I have to win the Games, to make them proud!"

The crowd goes wild at that, as they should. It's a great interview, and Marlowe knows it as she bows once to the cameras after the timer buzzes loudly. She sways down to her seat, glittering the whole time. The cameras zoom in a little on her butt as she sits in her seat, crossing her legs with a smirk.

An Avox takes me by the arm immediately leads me to backstage, where I glance over the rest of my costume with a grin. I know that Capitol is going to go absolutely crazy over it, a fitted golden breastplate that outlines my pecs and each of my abs, engraved with fish scales to make me look like a merman who was washed up onto the shores of Four. All I'm missing is a glinting trident dripping blood into the water as I stand victoriously over my kill.

"Our next tribute is a major heartthrob already, and I have a feeling he will only steal more hearts tonight… Farhoud Pistris!"

The sliding doors open and I put on a charming grin, waving to the crowd and even winking as I make my way to the center of the stage. I firmly shake Caesar's hand and sit with my legs spread, laughing easily as Caesar points to my right shoulder. My arms are bare, exposing my bulging muscles and the vicious sea monster tattoo that claws its way over my shoulder with its fanged mouth open in a vicious roar.

"That one is my favorite," I boast, leaning back in my seat and letting my long hair spread over my shoulders. I'm glad the stylists allowed me to wear it loose like usual instead of putting it up uncomfortably tight. Instead she only put some gel in it to make it fall in perfect ringlets around my face.

"It's very impressive!" Caesar declared. "How many do you have?"

"About ten," I say with a smirk. "But I can't show some of them on television, so don't ask."

Caesar's eyebrows disappear behind his hair and the audience roars with laughter. I chuckle a little as they die down.

"Well, it's great to meet you Farhoud," Caesar says with a studious nod, still smiling.

"Great to finally meet you," I drawl. "I've been looking forward to it."

"Well, the Capitol has been waiting to meet _you_!" Caesar exclaims happily. "I'm sure every woman has been dying to know if there is a pretty girl waiting for you back home."

I chuckle lowly. "Not at home, no. But there are plenty waiting for me all around Panem." I wink to the camera and hear women swooning in the audience. "I'm sure I'll get to meet a lot of them once I've won the Games."

The crowd is in hysterics, either laughing or shrieking as they cover their faces. I feel like I'm looking out over a crowd of twelve-year olds from the school in Four, swooning over the muscular future winner of the Hunger Games when I passed them in the hallways, the boys glancing at me enviously.

"Well, are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" Caesar prompts me once the noise has died down. "Anything you miss about District Four?"

I place a hand over my stomach as I lean back. "Oh, I miss everything. The beaches, the waves, the smell of salt in the air…" I find myself getting strangely sentimental. "Especially my mother. She's the only family I have, really… She didn't want me to volunteer, but I wanted to change our lives. She raised me alone without a lot of money, and this is the least I can do to repay her."

I realize the air has turned somber quite suddenly, Caesar watching me with a pitiable frown. I put back on my signature smirk and turn back to the audience. "But I have to say I don't miss her cooking. The fish is way better here for some reason, let me tell you. The white sauce is way better than anything she's ever made."

That sends the studio into laughter again, and Caesar's eyes are glistening with moisture when he speaks again. "Well, you're one of only two tributes who managed to score a ten this year. How do you feel about that?"

"I expected it," I say with a shrug. "I'm the strongest of the lot and the Gamemakers know it. I'm sure everyone else will see it too once we're in the arena."

My timer buzzes as Caesar opens his mouth to respond. Instead he grins and declares, "Farhoud Pistris, everybody!" gesturing to me as I make my way down to my seat.

Marlowe smiles amicably as I sit beside her. "That was easy," I boast. "When can we start killing people?"

Marlowe snorts, shaking her head as Caesar begins his next introductions. "Just hold on for the night, sea monster."

 _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F_

I'm waiting in the dark backstage waiting for my name to be called when I hear a strangely familiar cough behind me. I turn sharply to see Sinclair standing there, dressed exactly as he always is in his slate gray suit complete with a blood red rose in one pocket, dark glasses covering his eyes as if he's trying to hide away his soul.

"What are you doing here?" I demand immediately, not thrown off in the slightest. I knew he would come to see me eventually.

"I wanted to see my favorite employee before she's sent off to die," he says in his soft, smooth voice with a slimy smile. "I hope you won't forget where you came from, Rai, and who it was who helped you all these years."

I huff in amusement. "Do you really think I'll out you to the Capitol, Sinclair? What would I gain from that?" I raise an eyebrow at him, but he remains unmoving. So I continue, "It's not me you should be worried about- how many clients of yours would love to brag that they've spent a night with a tribute before they're name was called at the Reaping? Or even a victor before they won? You've got bigger problems than me."

"I can deal with each of my clients," Sinclair says, an edge of annoyance in his voice. "I just wanted to let you know that my business is willing to support you in the Games… if you agree to work for us after you win. Maybe even recommend me for a job in the government dealing with the victors' nighttime visits-"

"Oh, Sinclair," I sigh, hearing the crowd cheer as Caesar begins my introduction. "I've been living in your shadow for so long, but now I'm finally free. I don't need anyone but myself. So long."

He looks disappointed and maybe a little surprised, but has enough sense to melt back into the shadows as the booming "Raillen Harkness!" from Caesar sends the doors flying open. I grin to the audience as I walk out onstage, feeling more in control of my own life than I ever had before.

My black kitten heels click against the floor as I make my way toward Caesar. I wink to the crowd, then shake his hand with a cheeky grin. My black velvet dress flutters around my ankles, open in the front to reveal the red underside. I sit with my legs crossed, jutting forward my chest slightly to draw the eyes there.

"You look so beautiful today!" Caesar exclaims, gesturing to my dress. "And such pretty hair!"

I giggle as I reach up to touch my platinum blond hair, braided in crowns over my head. "Thank you, Caesar. I think all of the clothes here are just gorgeous."

"Well, you certainly had quite an entrance in the tribute parade," Caesar continues. "You make such a beautiful solar panel. No wonder you've garnered so many supporters already!"

I smile shyly. "Well, I think a solar panel fits me. I was named after the rays of sunlight bouncing off the panels in Five."

"Oh, how lovely," Caesar beams. "Your parents sound

I shift, swallowing nervously as my carefully constructed mask starts to drop for a moment. I steady myself with downturned eyes and a sweet pout ."Actually, my parents died when I was very small. I don't remember them at all. Instead I was raised in the group home."

The air is instantly more somber as the crowd murmurs and "aw"s in sympathy. "But it's okay!" I assure everyone with a bright, dimpled smile. "I've managed to turn my life around on my own, and I ."

Caesar nods, impressed, as faint applause scatters throughout the studio. "You sound quite confident. Could you tell us anything about your plans for the arena?"

I smirk flirtatiously, laughing a little. "Well, I can't reveal too much to you can I? But let's just say that a lot of people in my life have underestimated me, and I'm sure they will continue to do so… but they shouldn't."

"Well, I definitely wouldn't!" Caesar exclaims. "So, if your family is not alive… is there anyone else that is waiting for you back in Five? Any special boys in your life?"

"Ah, well…" I look directly at the camera. "There are quite a few men watching who know me. And of course… there's my friend Ciera." I hear my voice become softer. "We haven't been friends long, but I do miss her dearly."  
Caesar puts a hand over his heart, trying to seem empathetic, though his purple hair and freakishly white teeth and manicured eyebrows make him look like plastic up this close. The timer goes off just then, and I stand with a flourish, waving to the audience suggestively as I saunter down to my seat. The audience loves me, a few leal supporters chanting my name as I sit daintily in my chair, crossing my legs with a smirk. I know I have nothing to fear now that I'm here; I thought that working for Sinclair gave me freedom, but it had only trapped me in dependence to him. Now, I have more control over my life here than I ever did back in Five. Once I've won, I'll show Sinclair whose in control of who.

But I can't forget about my district partner, who I suspect more and more each day might be among my biggest competition. His score of a seven in training is higher than my own five, as well as being much higher than the average score of anyone from Five in decades. Hell, our mentor Jabbock who won three years ago scored only a five despite being seventeen, same as me. Five doesn't typically have physically strong or intellectual tributes, nor those will much experience with nature.

"Our next tribute is the handsome Volt Halvorsson!"

Volt is grinning, teeth practically glinting in the light and winking at the camera. His all black silk suit accentuates the length of his legs and slim body, all the way up to his neck. His matching dark hair is tousled artfully, icy blue eyes the only addition of color to the entire ensemble. They pop out with the intensity of a sudden winter storm.

He shakes hands with Caesar with a respectful nod, and sits while observant eyes sweep over the crowd without a lick of fear. "It's great to meet you Caesar," he says, turning to him with a sudden bright smile. "I've been looking forward to it."

"Have you?" Caesar seems pleased.

"Yes, I love watching your show," Volt says coolly. "It's my favorite part of the Hunger Games." He sounds just as calm and collected as usual, with a hint of sincerity behind his words. "And the killing, of course." His smile is dimpled, but I can see the sharp edge of a knife that hides just underneath the surface. I wonder, as the Capitolites laugh, whether they cannot see it or if they're delighted by the bite of his words.

"That's good to hear," Caesar laughs. "I love to hear that the districts enjoy my show. Does the rest of your family admire me just as much." He places a finger to his cheek and turns his face to the camera with a glint in his eye.

Volt chuckles along with the audience with a little, easy smirk on his face. His sharp jawline catches on the light, attractive enough for some girls behind us to swoon. "Oh yes, my parents love the Games just as much as me. They'll be excited to see me in the arena." he looks to the camera and winks with a slight wave. I wonder if he's lying or if his parents really are a pair of ignorant idiots who would be proud to have a victor in their family. I'd rather stay an orphan than live in a family like that.

"What about any girls waiting for you back home?" Caesar asks with an intrigued lean forward. "Such a handsome young man should have girls chasing after him day and night."

Volt laughs lightly, ducking his head just a little in mock shyness, but his eyes are still unfaltering. "Ah, not really… but I'm open to a relationship once I've won the Games."

"Well, I'm sure there are many lucky ladies who would be tripping over themselves for that chance!"

Volt smiles smugly. I feel a shiver down my spine. Enough men have looked at me in that way before that I know I would never want to be one of those lucky ladies.

"You seem confident that you'll be the one will emerge victorious," Caesar says with interest. "Can you tell us a little about your plan to survive?"

"Well, I don't plan on just surviving, but thriving," Volt says with a feral grin. "I think I have a step up on most of the other tributes." He says it so easily, leaning back lazily in his chair. "My allies and I aren't to be underestimated, just like Dylan said." He says it so coolly that I find myself rolling my eyes.

Caesar nods, engrossed. "Well, I certainly won't underestimate you! I can feel your _volts_ of electricity in this studio tonight!"

Volt erupts into laughter along with the audience, keeling over in apparent glee. When his timer goes off, he stands and claps for Caesar before shaking his hand once more and heading down to his seat. He adjusts his suit as he sits down beside me, crossing his long, thin legs. I bet I could break them in half like twigs if I wanted. But he doesn't acknowledge me and I don't acknowledge him.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

Pagani is shifting nervously beside me, unusual for her since she's typically so nonchalant and calm. It might be because of her outfit- a strange choice of large blouse with poofy sleeves, the same blue as her eyes and layered like it's trying to swallow her. The bottom hem is tucked into her jet-black pants which flare out around her ankles. The stylists were clearly unsure of what to do with her makeup, eventually deciding to simply put on a light layer of correcting touches and leaving her face unpainted. She wouldn't be considered "pretty" by Capitol standards even with the sleekest dress and boldest makeup, and her stylists at least had the sense to recognize that.

"Good luck," I wish her with a smile when the Avoxes come for her. The audience is still clapping for Volt's killer interview. She doesn't respond. She hasn't spoken a word since we emerged from our respective dressing rooms, especially tight-lipped during Volt's interview. She seems to have taken a disliking to him which I can't say I completely understand- he's a vital part of our alliance. Her blouse makes her look like a plumped up bird as she moves forward, eyes blank. I know she's capable, but I hope she'll be able to pull in some sponsors to benefit us in the arena.

"This outfit keeps pricking me," I hear the little girl behind me hiss to her brother, and I have to suppress my laugh.

"Mine isn't much better," the boy says. "Just try and focus, Sparrow."

"I am focusing!" Sparrow objects quietly, pulling up her skirt which is styled like icicles dripping off of her. "Why couldn't they give me the same one as you?"

I glance back at her brother, who is dressed in greens and browns similar to that of a tree, with flowers swirling over his shoulders and down his legs. He catches me looking and I smile amicably before looking away. He's definitely gained strength since our time here in the Capitol. It's strange to think that if we weren't in the Games, we might have gotten along well… but here, we're enemies.

Caesar is just introducing Pagani as I turn my attention to the screen at the front of the corridor. "And now for our next tribute… Pagani Chevy!"

Pagani appears onstage with a neutral look on her face, smiling with one side of her mouth at the camera as she shakes Caesar's hand. As the audience applauds, I can sense them leaning in closer in curiosity, intrigued by her outfit and bored expression.

"Welcome, Pagani!" Caesar says solemnly, matching her own demeanor. "Are you enjoying your time in the Capitol?"

"Eh, it's okay." Pagani shrugs. "I like the food and the weather."

"The weather?" Caesar asks with a small laugh. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the weather in Six can be stormy and cold," Pagani says matter-of-factly. "Especially out on the streets."

Caesar leans forward with a somber expression, mouth drawn tightly together. "Oh my, does that mean… do you..."

"I live on the streets with my mother and brother, and my best friend Mary," Pagani answers without hesitation, never one to mince words. "We've been homeless for two years. My father died in an accident driving one of the test cars at the factory when I was six, and we had trouble making our rent payments ever since. Especially since my brother got very sick and we can't figure out why."

It's clear the audience is overwhelmed by the amount of information she's piled onto them. Caesar's phony purple eyebrows are drawn up in shock. "Well, that's quite… concerning. That must be a very hard life."

Pagani shrugs once again. She pulls off the unconcerned cool girl quite well, but as someone who's lived with her for almost a week now, I can see the nervous glint in her eye. She swallows dryly before she speaks again. "It can be hard, but I'm used to it by now. And I'd rather live on my own terms than by some landlord's."

She delivers the line with confidence, and I smile proudly. It was my own design for her to be a smart street rat, and she's embodying it well. Our mentors aren't really too invested in our interviews, or much about our training at all, so I've had to sort of take on the role for both of us.

"Do you miss your family?" Caesar asks with seeming genuine interest. "How do you think they are doing without you?"

Pagani's mask drops for a moment, but she only responds in the same low, easy voice. "They'll be fine for a little while. If I don't come back, then… they might not do so well. I can only hope that Mary will take care of them, and that my brother Wench will eventually get better… but I'm sure that will happen on its own."

"Well, what does winning mean to you, then?" Caesar asks quietly, clearly expecting the answer.

"Of course a home in the Victor's Village would be a miracle for my family. And I would have the money to pay for my brother's diagnosis and treatment, and to help my friend Mary and all of our friends that we've met on the street. We'd be able to afford three meals a day!" She seems almost excited at the thought. "I could introduce all of them to Capitol food. They would love it."

The audience sympathetically murmur amongst each other. Pagani's dreams seem so small and pathetic, which is apparently endearing and pitiable to the wealthy citizens of the Capitol.

Caesar is nodding with a grin, like he's speaking to a small child. "That sounds amazing! How do you plan to make it a reality?"

Pagani smiles mysteriously. "I can't reveal too much of that, can I?" Her blue eyes look like they conceal a deep, sharp secret. "But let me just say that no one should underestimate me and our alliance. And living on the streets has taught me more about survival than most of the other tributes here." I can sense the cockiness in her, and I grin proudly as she leans back in her chair. She's the perfect enigmatic, resourceful, genial street rat tribute that the Capitol is known to love. The timer goes off before Caesar can say anything more, and Pagani stands with a small smirk before heading down to her seat, not paying the crowd any attention aside from a small wave. She might deny it later, but I can tell she likes the attention.

The Avoxes come for me before Pagani is even in her seat. I stand in the shrouded darkness of the backstage as Caesar introduces me, and I plant a winning smile on my face, a jolt of adrenaline running through me as I realize I'm really about to have all of the eyes of the nation on me.

"And now another heartthrob of the nation, who stole hearts with his golden hair and smile, Logan Wheeler!"

The applause is deafening as I appear onstage, raising a hand in greeting. I shake Caesar's hand while feeling the slightest bit dazed, the glittering of the crowd making me feel dizzy. But I don't let up on my confidence, nodding when Caesar compliments my outfit.

"Thank you," I say with a grin, looking down at my plain gray tux. It would be ridiculous-looking in District Six, flared out pants and shoulder pads with spikes, but not eye-catching for the Capitol. I'm thankful the stylists didn't give me something completely ludicrous. Instead, it's simple and classically handsome, just a blue handkerchief in my front pocket that's the same shade as Pagani's blouse to make a subconscious connection between the two of us.

"As handsome as ever," Caesar continues with a grin. "Having a good time in the Capitol?"

"I would say so," I say, trying to keep the same light tone to my voice that I usually have, instead of sounding nervous. "But I've been focusing on my training, so not a lot of time for pleasure."

Caesar nods, understanding. "Well, if you win, maybe you'll have some time to explore the city a little bit more."  
"I hope so," I say with an easy smile. "But what I'm really looking forward to is seeing my family and friends again. And my girlfriend Natalie… more than anything."

The audience cooes at that. I know they love a good tragic love story, so I decide to pile it on even thicker than planned. "We've been together since middle school. We grew up together and I had a huge crush on her for as long as I could remember. She knows me better than anyone."

Though I'm saying this all for show, it's all true. I feel an unexpected and unwelcome surge of homesickness, for my house, my Warriors, my girlfriend, my family. It's been less than a week, but it's felt like a lifetime since I've seen them. And I may never again.

Caesar is looking at me with large, melancholic eyes, purple eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Young love is so beautiful, but can be so heartbreaking," he says wisely, holding a hand over his heart. "Do you think you have what it takes to be able to get home to her?"

"I do," I say fiercely. 'I'm a strong fighter, and I have experience with fighting on the streets. I've never lived there like Pagani, but everyone in the bad neighborhoods of Six has their fair share of run-ins with criminals. I would say mine have given me enough knowledge of hand-to-hand combat before I even got here." I don't mention that I am in a gang, let alone started it. That wouldn't be very Capitol-friendly, but I'm not lying either.

"What about your family?" Caesar asks with seeming genuine interest. "You said you live in a bad neighborhood, correct?"

"It isn't the worst, but it's not the best either," I say. "My father owns a mechanic shop repairing Peacekeeper cars, and even some from Capitol citizens. He does his best to provide for us. I would do anything to reward him for his hard work all these years. I think a home in Victor's Village would do the trick."

The crowd murmurs with faint laughter, and Caesar chuckles, the mood lightened just a bit. "I think that would, too. You seem very determined to get back to them. How do you plan to do that?"

I grin as I recall my earlier planned answer of _don't underestimate me just because I'm from an outer district, our alliance is strong_ , etc that's been echoed so many times before this. Instead I say, "Strategy. I may not be the strongest, or the best with a sword, but I won't go blindly running into conflict when it isn't needed. I've been planning out my alliance based on their potential and their knowledge, and I won't be some scared tribute in the brush nor the one hunting them. I'll be the one that makes it out alive."

The timer goes off right after I've uttered my last word, and the audience goes wild as I stand and shake hands with Caesar once more. I can feel the thunderous applause in the floor under my feet and I walk down to my seat. Pagani is waiting with her usual indecipherable expression, but if I wasn't mistaken, I would say she looked pleased, even proud. We silently wait for the next tribute to emerge, knowing we've done all we can until the bloodbath.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you'd like! :)**


	23. The Interviews: Part 2

_Sparrow Lavalée (12)- D7F_

Despite myself, feel my arms and legs trembling in nerves as I stand shrouded in darkness to wait for my name to be called. _It's just three minutes_ , I recall Raven's words. It will only be a few minutes, then Raven will take over and win the Capitol's hearts. I don't doubt that he'll have any trouble doing so. And if he gets sponsors, then I will too.

I shift uncomfortably in my outfit, which seems ridiculous to me but which the stylist had called "fabulous!". The branches that protrude from my shoulders and heavy with fake ice and snow, icicles dripping and swinging from my waist into a skirt, even over my head like a melted crown. I wish they had given me Raven's style of outfit, a summery tree complete with blooms, green leaves, and even syrup dripping down over his chest.

"I think it's time to welcome our next tribute, the nation's sweetheart who has already captured the hearts of so many alone with her hunk of a brother, I present to you Sparrow Lavaleé!"

I let out a huff of air as the spotlights shine on me, nearly blinding me with the intensity. I shyly smile to the audience, who are clapping with a deafening eagerness that I can't say I expected. Caesar's figure is blurry when I reach him due to my eyes watering from the lights. I blink rapidly as i shake his hand, sitting down primly like Johanna taught me. "They'll like it if you oseem delicate and little. Know your manners even though you were never taught like they were."

I cross my legs and force myself to smile as Caesar greets me. "Welcome, Sparrow! You look absolutely divine! Very throwback!"

Not knowing anything about Capitol fashion, I don't know what he's talking about. But I simply nod and look down to where my bright blue blouse is covered with sparkling fake ice. "I feel divine," I lie.

"You remind me of our lovely victor Celia Winterbourne!" Caesar says with a grin, nodding to the audience, where the resident ice queen Celia from Two is sitting with a half-smirk. The spotlight shines on her for a second and she waves to the camera. I gulp nervously, realizing what Caesar meant now by "throwback". I wonder if my stylist was trying to draw a connection between the two of us. I hope not- I don't want to be compared to a trained, vicious murderer.

"Well, back to our new tribute," Caesar says genially. "It's great to meet you, Sparrow. How are you feeling about the Games? Feeling confident?"

I realize my face has reverted back to my usual stoic expression. I try to smile a little, saying, "We'll be sad to leave the Capitol, but my brother and I are ready to play."

Caesars nods. "Speaking of your brother Raven, he volunteered for the Games didn't he said at the Reaping that he volunteered to protect you, right?"

I swallow, trying not to be upset that he's prodding me for obvious answers. I know that even though it makes me angry, our relationship being shared with the Capitol is what will earn us sympathy and sponsors. "Raven has always been my protector. We're an inseparable team, and he's my best friend as well as my brother."

The audience coos and Caesar is watching me with wide, somber eyes. "How do you think your parents feel about two of their children going into the Hunger Games? Do you have any other siblings?"

"No," I clip. "And my mother died giving birth to me. I was practically raised by Raven."

"What about your father?" Caesar pushes, not letting anything slide. "Is he still alive?"

I bristle, but try to keep my face neutral. "Yes," I say shortly. "My father is…" I quickly contemplate my options, and I finally decide to tell the truth. "He's a wicked, depraved man. He's just someone who lives in the same house as me."

I can tell the audience didn't expect that, tittering amongst themselves like a buzz in the studio. I gulp and add, "Raven is the one who I consider my true family. He's the only person who can really make me laugh. Him and my friend Dinah."

Caesar perks up at that. "You certainly seem like a very impassive and cool young lady," he says teasingly. "If I can't make you laugh, at least someone can."

I force myself to smile again. "I don't know what I would do without Raven."

"Well, how do you plan to stay together during the Games?" Caesar asks. "Certainly a clever young lady like you knows that both of you won't be able to survive."

"Of course," I say, trying not to seem snappy. I sit up straight with a deep sigh. "Our priority is to stick together for as long as possible. We worked hard during training, and we're prepared to do whatever it takes. I can't say who will come out alive, but it will be one of us. I know that much."

The crowd erupts into applause as my timer goes off. I stand with a small smile, walking to my seat. I know my interview wasn't very entertaining, funny, or even relatable, but all I can hope for is to be memorable.

"And now for Sparrow's delightful brother, Raven Lavaleé!"

The audience cheers even louder for Raven than they did for me, which in my mind is a good sign. I've achieved my goal of talking up Raven as much as possible. I'm sure everyone knows that he's the one with a real chance of winning out of the two of us, and I only have a shot if he survives long enough to protect me. A latent twitch of annoyance at him pulls at my heartstrings. He shouldn't have volunteered… but now it doesn't matter.

"Welcome, Raven!" Caesar proclaims. Raven takes his hand with a sturdy shake and grins to him before waving to the crowd. I can tell the audience is already liking him- his flowery nature outfit seems to have already scored him points.

"Hey, Caesar," he says amicably, sitting with one leg resting on the other comfortably. "It's great to finally meet you. I've seen you on the television screen every year of my life."

"That's true," Caesar says. "You practically grew up with me."

"I guess I did," Raven says with a hum. "Sometimes I wonder if you even exist outside of this studio, or if you just spawned out of nowhere each year yelling, _Happy Hunger Games_!"

His impression is humorous but somewhat accurate, and both Caesar and the audience find it hilarious. "Is that an insult?" Caesar asks between laughs. "Because I'll have you know that I do in fact have a life outside of the studio. But let's hear about you, shall we?"

I can't help but smirk a little to myself- though Raven rarely tries to make people uncomfortable with his banter, I know Caesar Flickerman would be someone he would be eager to try it out on.

"Fine," Raven sighs. "Well, what do the colorful poodles want to know?" he asks, gesturing to the audience. But he's smiling with a teasing twinkle in his eye that makes Caesar chortle.

"Not fond of Capitol fashion, then?"

"Not fond of any kind of fashion," Raven says with a brief look of disgust. "Back home we just wear our work clothes and call it a day. Simple, fast, easy."

"You have a job in District Seven? What do you do?"

I can see the lines of Raven's face tighten, but he still keeps his genial mask on. "Lumberjack, just like every other sorry son of a- opps sorry. But you get what I mean. It's not too bad of a job. Get to provide for my sister and spend time outdoors rather than cooped up in a big city like this all day."

He's really playing it up for them- begin a lumberjack is never exactly fun, out in the hot sun all day, constant risk of injury, and of course the overworking that he had to endure in order to provide for us.

"Well, then why did you volunteer for the Hunger Games?" Caesar asks with a cheerful, carefree tone, as if he was asking why Raven had bought a particular pair of shoes over another. "If life in Seven is so swell?"

Raven looks down for a moment and clears his throat before looking up again. "Because of my little sister Sparrow." I feel the spotlight shining on me, so hot it makes sweat bead on my forehead. I stare resolutely at the stage, not giving them a reaction. "She's everything to me, the only person I consider family. I couldn't let her go in the Games alone."

"Sparrow said your father was a cruel man," Caesar says, eyes now somber and mellow. "You think so too?"

Raven glances at him, and momentarily I can see the pure hate behind his eyes before it disappears. "Pa has gone through many difficulties in his life. I pity him."

The studio is silent for a second before Raven continues, "Protecting Sparrow is what I've done my entire life, and I couldn't let her die because of chance. I could and would give my life for her."

The timer goes off, and the crowd erupts into momentous applause. Raven grimly waves once more to them before switching to his usual cheerful self with a flourish of his arms. One would never know that just a few days ago, he was in horrible pain from his mystery illness. As he comes down to sit by me, I give him a smile and an approving nod of the head. It's not often he gets one, and I can see the proud look on his face, though perhaps invisible to others, clear as day to me. I just hope he knows that it's not just for this interview, but for everything he's done for me through the years.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

I can't help the nervous thrum in my ears, the pounding heartbeat in my chest. Putting on a performance for others has been my job, my means of survival, for years, but this is different. These people want to see me kill others, not watch me undress. They actually care, in their own way, about who I am rather than just my body. It's a strange feeling. Stranger is that the sensation under my skin is almost… excitement. Of course, I don't let it show.

"Ugh," Flux says loudly. She doesn't share my desire to cloak her emotions. She's been making her disapproval of her outfit known for the past hour, and I must admit the dark purple pantsuit and over-laying skirt does look rather odd. But if the Capitol likes it, what's the harm?

"The harm is that I look like an umbrella, Thimble," she had spat out when I'd asked her. I hadn't tried to comfort her after that.

"At least I can get it over with," she sighs, hefting her skirt up around her waist again. Her curly hair is in wet ringlets around her face, completing the look. "The stylist said this is the latest trend in young girl's dresses, but I'm not a little girl, am I? Whatever," she huffs, sounding like she's talking to herself.

If I'm being honest, I wished I was going first to get it over with. As I watch the Avoxes escort Flux backstage, I reach up to fondle with the locket Rita gave me, with the picture of my parents inside. Tag wanted me to wear it during the interview, in case Caesar asks me about my family.

"They love a good orphan story, but seeing their faces might help them remember they're more than a story," he had said.

"And now, continuing with our _francais_ streak, we have District Eight's Flux DuBois!"

Flux walks out on stage with her usual carefree grin, but I can see the guardedness in her eyes as she stares out over the crowd. It seems like the entire Capitol has shown up to hear us talk for three minutes, even though I know that's not true.

"It's great to meet you, Flux!" Caesar exclaims. Flux greets him with a firm handshake and sits with her legs open and loose. I snort to myself, then quiet down immediately after the remaining tributes all turn to look at me.

"Hey, Caesar," Flux says coolly. Her eyes scan the crowd, taking in the studio.

"How are you liking the Capitol?"

"It's fine," she shrugs. I can already see some problems with her strategy, but both mentors did want her to play up the cool girl attitude.

"Anything you miss about District Eight?" Caesar presses, leaning forward a bit.

Flux sits up just slightly, looking a little annoyed by his proximity but only saying, "Most of all I miss my friend Kaine. I miss going around the district and spray-painting the walls."

Caesar blinks rapidly, surprised. "Is that legal in Eight? It surely isn't here."

She simply shrugs again. "Never been arrested. I like painting flowers, animals, trees, the things we don't have a lot of in Eight." She's so nonchalant that it's hard not to take her seriously, and I can see the wheels turning in Caesar's head as he decides what to make of her.

"An artist!" he exclaims, smile on his face. "Do you think your talents will help you in the arena?"

"Hope so," she says. " I have lots of experience evading people who want to catch me."

A low chuckle trickles through the crowd, almost like no one's sure if they're allowed to laugh. Caesar laughs silently with his face scrunched up for a moment, then blows air out through his mouth slowly. "I have a feeling no one would want to be the one chasing you."

Pagani smiles, her eyes dark. "I haven't had any experience with weapons before coming here, but I'm a quick learner. And I'm not afraid to take risks in the arena and do whatever it takes to win."

Her words are convincing; if I didn't know her I would think she was harboring some kind of deep dark secret. She embodies the mysterious vibe well, especially the snarky look in her eyes that I've only ever seen once before, when she had gone off on Passion in training.

"What exactly are your plans for the Games?" Caesar asks eagerly. "Do you think your art skills will help you survive?"

"Maybe," Flux says calmly. "My plan is to keep moving and use the survival skills I learned in training."

Caesar nods, looking deep in thought. She's not giving him a lot of work with, so he switches topics. "Do you have any family in Eight? Or only your friend Kaine?"

"I have parents," Flux says, looking almost bored. "We get by well enough. I don't think they're very happy that I'm here in the Hunger Games, but maybe I can impress them. They always say that I'm too lazy, especially my mom."

"Maybe this is a chance to prove them wrong!" Caesar says approvingly, looking to the crowd for a light smattering of applause.

"What about your friend? Is he more than a friend, or is there another boy you have back home that's hoping you'll return home?"

Flux looks almost offended at the question, but she only smiles icily and says, "Kaine isn't my boyfriend. No one else either. I'm more of a free spirit."

Her timer goes off before Caesar can say anything more, but I'm sure that she's made a good impression on the Capitolites. The Avoxes come for me before I can even watch her descent down to her seat, and I feel my heart jump into my throat. I'm grateful that Tag decided I should go for the mysterious angle as well, creating some intrigue around the previous year's victor's tributes.

"And now," Caesar begins, "The handsome boy from District Eight, Thimble Brier!"

The doors open to reveal a screaming, glittering audience and lights that hurt my eyes. I swallow nervously as I walk to Caesar, shaking his hand quickly and sitting down while avoiding his eyes.

"Welcome, Thimble!" Caesar announces. "You look very dapper today!"

"Thank you," I say, sounding more surly than I intended. My pitch black suit has a dull glimmer to it, tightly fitted against my long lean legs. A thin bright blue tie is the only color in the outfit, popping out. That and the silver locket around my neck.

"Are you enjoying the Capitol?" Caesar asks with a spectral grin. "Miss District Eight?"

"I don't miss it that much, no," I say primly, sitting up as straight as I can.

"No family to miss?" Caesar asks, seeming surprised. "Another orphan?"

"I am now," I say mysteriously.

"What is life like in Eight for you then?" Caesar asks gently. The audience is hushed, silently leaning forward to hear my answer. I feel contempt rise in my throat like bile, but I try not to let it show.

"I live at a club," I say evasively. "I make a living for myself, but nothing compared to the wealth I would have as a victor."

"The wealth is definitely a pull factor," Caesar says jovially. "Everyone has dreams of being rich! What do you fantasize about?"

I bite my tongue before I spit out that everyone in the Capitol is rich compared to the people in the districts, and that my real dream for my life is to be able to eat and have a place to sleep without selling myself or working to death in the factories.

"I would like my own house," I say, somewhat truthfully. "And never have to work again."

"That's the dream!" Caesar agrees with a roaring laugh, and several people clap in agreement. When I don't say anything more, Caesar leans forward, face now serious. I try not to make a face of disgust or lean away, crossing my arms tightly.

"Well, are you enjoying being here in the Capitol? I know training takes a little effort, but you surely get a taste of what real wealth is like?"

"I've been focusing on my training more than a little," I say, somewhat insulted "If I'm going to win this, I need to give it everything I have, not spend time talking about fashion." I suddenly realize I'm being too much of a hardass, deciding to ease up a little. "I'm sorry…" I uncross my arms and sigh. "I just want to get back home. Even though I don't have family, I do have some people who I would like to see again." I reach up to clutch my silver locket, thinking about Rita giving it to me, the other prostitutes who I never appreciated before but who now I feel a strange fondness for.

"Of course," Caesar says softly. "I know this must be a stressful time."

I nod, eyes downcast. "Would you like to see a picture of my parents?"

"Yes!" Caesar exclaims, leaning forward. The audience is silent again as I open my locket to reveal the photo of my parents, smiling and still glowing years later. "They died in a fire," I said. "My mother was a teacher who taught all the kids who couldn't get to the regular school for free. My father was a strong factory worker. Both of them are my biggest inspirations in life… I don't want to disappoint them… or sully their memory."

"I'm sure they wouldn't think that about you," Caesar says softly. "Doing your best is what matters."  
"I suppose so," I say, throat closing up with unexpected emotion. I can't afford to cry during my interview- this is the last chance I have to reach the Capitol. I've spent so long hating my life and wishing for it to end, but now that I'm so close to death, with a real alternative right in front of my eyes, I've slowly realized that I might want to wait to see my parents for a little bit longer.

"They would be proud of you making a living for yourself for so long, then working so hard in the Games," Caesar commends me. "How exactly have you kept afloat?"

He must have latched onto that club comment and held back his questions. I feel some of my previous indignation return, but I stay neutral when I answer, "I do whatever it takes."

The timer goes off then, and I've never been more thankful. I didn't enjoy acting mysterious as much as I thought I would, and I'm not sure if I succeeded. I can only hope that I did what Tag wanted me to do.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

The shoes the stylists have fitted me with are far too tight, even if they say that they're the right size. How can anything fit right that feels like it's cutting off the circulation in your foot? Normal people are certainly very strange. But going by how Alder and the other tributes have reacted to the Capitolites, they're not exactly normal. They're treated like how the rest of Nine treats the cult when we venture out of our camp for the Reaping.

I stay silent as I wait backstage for my name to be called. I overheard my mentor talking to Alder's last night about how she was afraid I wouldn't say anything at all during my interview. I can't exactly blame her- I haven't spoken hardly at all except when required. But it would be suicide to ignore such an important part of the Games as the interview- especially with a background like mine. I may be unaware of most things about "normal" life, whether in the districts or the Capitol, but I watched the Games every year, same as everyone else. Even the Skull Cult was not exempt. I know a thing or two about how the interviews can shape a tribute's odds.

"And now for the flaming redhead that's caught everyone's attention this year, Blossom Urakaka!"

The sliding doors open and I smile shyly, realizing I may not be as equipped to deal with the entire nation watching me as I thought I am. But as I walk to shake Caesar's hand, I imagine my sisters Paresh and Twiggy watching with shock and disapproval, my parents heads shaking. The Elders are probably very disappointed that a corrupt witch such as myself would get a chance to talk to the entire nation. But they'll be moreso if I don't die as they desired. I intend to disappoint them.

"Welcome, Blossom!" Caesar exclaims. "You look practically radiant!"

Radiant isn't the word that I would use- probably something more close to ominous. The color black was associated with darkness and the absence of the Sun in the Skull Cult, and wearing the color had to be kept to a minimum- not by restriction, but rather fear. I feel like I'm a harbinger of doom as I sit down in my wavy black gown that barely reaches my knees, exposes my shoulders. I notice Caesar's eyes going straight to the tiara on my head, inlaid with glittering rubies and jet black jewels. The makeup they've done on me is also dark, making my bright red hair seem even more violent.

"Thank you," I say stiffly. I don't like having everyone's eyes on me, but this horror will be over soon.

"Well, Blossom, what do you think your favorite part of the Capitol has been so far?"

I ponder for a moment. "The food. The beds. The air conditioning."

The words cause a ripple of laughter in the crowd. I'm not sure if they're laughing at me or not- is air conditioning something that is common even in the districts?

"All very important parts of a happy life," Caesar says kindly. "What about what or who you left behind in District Nine… anyone waiting for you back home?"

My mind shifts to my family, the Elders and their scowls, the kids I used to play with when our parents weren't looking before I was condemned as a witch.

"No," I say.

"Really?" Caesar asks in surprise. "Another orphan?"

The crowd is already revving up their sympathy, but I simply say another, "No."

Caesar sits stumped for a moment, seeming exaggerated to my eyes. "Well, what is life back in Nine like for you?"

I know they wouldn't want all the grisly details. "I live with my family and others. We're grain cultivators. We live away from the rest of the district."

Caesar nods. "A noble pursuit! Growing grain for the rest of Panem! How do you think that experience will help you in the Games?"

"Growing grain? Not at all," I say. "But I have experience going without food, water, living in the wilderness, gathering food to eat, making fires."

"A well-rounded resume," Caesar actually seems impressed, if not confused. "If you have no one waiting for you back home, is there anything you miss at all?"

"Not wearing shoes," I say, the first thing that comes to my mind. We often didn't wear shoes around the camp; they were only an unnecessary expense. "Can I take them off?"

"Uh… I suppose you could."

I'm already slipping the ridiculous things off my feet, setting them gently on the floor beside my chair. "I like to go barefoot."

The air smells of confusion, but also amusement. Caesar's eyes are curious as he looks into my own. "By all means, do whatever makes you feel comfortable."

If that were the case, I'd leave the stage right now. But instead I smile tightly. "Thank you."

Caesar leans closer to me. "How did you learn about surviving alone without food or water? You said you live with your family, correct? In a group?"

"Yes," I say cautiously. I don't want to reveal too much. I know many of the Skull Cult's activities are illegal according to Panem law, and though my family have disowned me, I wouldn't want the Capitol to punish them simply for being born into it like I was. Especially my sisters. "Life away from the center of the district can be harsh," I say simply. "We grow our food and gather our own water. We don't rely on anyone, or any outside trade. So some years are more plentiful from others."

"I didn't realize the districts had such secluded groups of people," Caesar says in surprise.

"I'm not aware of any others," I say. "I hope there aren't."

"Oh?" Caesar prods, leaning even closer to me now as if trying to scrutinize the words coming out of my mouth. "Why is that? It sounded like your family has mistreated you. Is that what you're trying to say."

"They treated equal to everyone else in the camp," I say seriously. "Up until they announced I would be burned at the stake."

A furious gasp runs through the crowd, but it's already too late. My timer has buzzed and it's time for me to leave the stage, standing with a flourish of my black dress, pushing my flaming red hair behind my ear as I make my way slowly down to my seat. I can feel the camera on me and hear the distressed murmuring of the crowd, not dying down after Caesar takes front-stage as it did for all of the other tributes. I can see Thimble beside me casting me cautious glances, Flux on his right making more obvious attempts to stare at me. I keep my eyes forward on the stage.

"Alright, everyone, time for our next tribute," Caesar says with an uneasy laugh, grasping his hands together. "Say hello to the wonderful Alder Kasha!"

It's clear the Gamemakers are rushing out Alder as fast as they can to draw attention away from my death sentence. I imagine what they must be thinking- was I simply hated, or did I commit some atrocious crime? Was it even legal for a group of citizens to put another to death with the Peacekeepers' consent? _Did_ they have the Peacekeepers' consent? And most importantly… would this make me a killing machine in the Games?

Alder walks onto stage with his shoulders squared, brow furrowed as usual. His stocky appearance is not helped by his blocky golden suit, glittering and shining light on the walls. Shimmering protrusions stick out from the shoulder pads, little deadly sharp arrow and spear points that hint at future hunting expeditions. His dark hair is arranged in curls around his head, all complete with his disapproving frown.

"It's great to meet you, Alder," Caesar says seriously, perhaps matching his moodiness. "How are you feeling this fine morning? Ready for the Games?"  
"As ready as I'll ever be," he replies in a poisonous tone. He glances out over the crowd with rage barely contained in his eyes. I wonder for a second if he'll start cussing them out, curse them for sending him into a death sentence. But of course, that's not Alder's style- he keeps his anger simmering, leaving you guessing as to when it will explode. The implication is that it will happen when he's dropped in the arena.

"Well, tomorrow's the day!" Caesar exclaims happily. "Will there be anyone watching you with bated breath back home?"

One of Alder's eyebrows raises. "My mother. And my brother Alnus. And…" he trails off, distant for a moment. "Maybe someone else."

"A girl?" Caesar asks teasingly, and Alder's eyes flash.

"Kaia," he says bitterly. "She's really the only friend that I have."

"Ah," Caesar says with a garish grin. "A lady friend is always nice to think about when you're at a loss for company. I'm sure you'll be happy that she'll have her attention fixed on you!"

"If I die, I don't want her to watch!" Alder says indignantly, and I see for a moment the fifteen year old boy that he really is underneath the hard exterior. That's all both of us are- two children who have been scarred beyond belief by life. "I… hope she doesn't watch," he says helplessly, looking down in his lap.

Caesar blows air out of his mouth, nodding his head as if they're talking about a normal crush instead of the death of the boy in front of him. "It might be hard on her. But imagine if you win! What will you do then?"

The hardness returns to Alder's eyes as he sits up straight again. "I would support her and her family, and no one in hers or mine would ever have to work in the fields again. And I'd never have to go to school again- thank god."

His biting tone seems to strike a chord with people in the audience, who chuckle along with Caesar at the school comment. "I'm sure there are many kids here in the Capitol who would fight to the death for that chance!"

The laughter grows after that, Alder seeming confused by it. He keeps his face stern and lined, eyes darting over the colorful heads of our captors. It confuses me as well; I've never been to public school, but I imagine it couldn't be worse than living in the districts or working in the grain fields all day. But Alder has always been strange, and so are the Capitolites.

"Well, how do you plan to achieve that just reward?" Caesar asks with a grin. "You might need to show some intelligent strategy to convince your teachers to let you stay out of the classroom."

"I intend to," Alde snaps, now fuming. Apparently he doesn't like being out of the loop of the joke. I imagine if we grew up together, or met under different circumstances, we might have been able to bond over our mutual dislike of all things impractical. "The Capitol will know me when I'm finished with the others. They will know my strength and my determination. They will fear me."

His timer goes off right after, and the cheers for him are deafening. I can tell he's made an impression with his powerful words, but I can't help but feel as if there was a threat embedded deep in them. Perhaps Caesar feels it too, as his smile is just as uneasy as after I left the stage. Alder comes to sit beside me silently, both of us staring ahead. No use in talking when one or both will end up dead anyway.

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

I'm glad that Caiden's interview will happen before mine. If she ends up angering the audience or just looking like a morphling that hasn't had a fix in a couple days, then that will just make me look more level-headed by comparison. And what a comparison it is- both of us are adorned in dark suits tailored to our bodies, but hers is accented with dripping red, the handkerchief in her front pocket, the trim on the sleeves. Her short hair has even been given some temporary red tips. However, mine is a dark navy blue with glittering gold underneath. All colors of Panem, but it's as if she represents the bloodthirsty, reckless tribute, and I the patriotic easygoing tribute who loves his country. At least, I hope that's how it comes across.

"Time for our next tribute, a girl whose brash appearance has intrigued many of us in Panem, the ladylike Caiden Clawford!"

It's obvious a dig at Caiden, but she seems to take it all in her stride as she struts out onto stage, her outfit probably yet another shock to the Capitolites who are used to seeing ultra-feminine dresses and other get-ups. Instead the only indication that Caiden is a girl is her sharp eyeliner, but even that wouldn't mean much considering that makeup is common regardless of gender in the Capitol. It's something that my parents had warned me of when I was a child- _if your stylist tries to put makeup on you, don't fight it,_ my father had said, so strange coming from such a pillar of masculinity. Caiden needed to have the same talk; she'd put up a horrible fight when the stylists had tried to do anything more than what was currently on her face.

"Welcome, Caiden!" Caesar exclaims. He's clearly excited to be interviewing such a stand-out tribute. Caiden raises a bushy eyebrow but she's nothing, sitting spread in the chair without a care in the world.

"Well," Caesar continues, not discouraged. "What an aesthetic you certainly have! Some would say avant-garde. Are you a subscriber of fashion, or is this simply a personal style?"

Caiden doesn't spare him a glance this time, eyes looking out over the crowd with disinterest. After a few silent moments pass, I realize painfully what she's doing. The thing that will get her the most amount of attention with the least amount of effort- nothing. I was a fool to think she would go out screaming and yelling, or even making fun of Caesar or insulting the Capitol. She may be irritating at times, but she isn't stupid.

"Caiden?" Caesar asks, pretending to be concerned. He must know what she's doing- she isn't the first tribute in the history of the Hunger Games to pull this kind of trick. But her performance is what ties the whole thing together- carefully crafted apathy with a hint of derision in her eyes. She looks at a cameras every now and then just to let them know she's there.

"A shy one!' Caesar says to the audience, and they burst into laughter. Still Caiden keeps silent, body language staying pristinely comfortable in clear contrast to the words. She's not one curl away from an audience in the least- this is a conscious choice and she wants everyone to know it.

"If there is something you can tell us about- if you're comfortable of course- then can you tell us something about your life back home?" Caesar asks with a purpose, leaning closer to her. I can feel the tension through the screen, making me grimace.

Caiden looks at him pointedly, then away, back to staring at one of the cameras. There are a few laughs at her apparent sass, and I can tell her silent treatment will win her some interest at least, if not some outright fans who like to support the "unusual" candidates for winners. Her stubbornness certainly shows that she's brave.

Her timer goes off without her having said a single word, and she practically leaps from her seat down the stage as the Avoxes come to take me backstage. Onscreen, Caesar seems a little put out at not having a handshake or even a goodbye, and walks to the center of the stage with a troubled frown. "An interesting interview for sure! Now onto our next, the dashing Jeremy Caulfield!"

The doors open with a flourish, and I put on my best winning smile and wave as I head to my seat. My training automatically kicks in as soon as those lights hit my face, their shine temporarily blinding me as I shake Caesar's hand. I can hear the loud chants of my name from the crowd, and I'm surprised. I thought without the name Carroway, no one would have much reason to pay attention to me. At least until I was in the arena.

But I imagine I must look like a Carroway, even if no one realizes it. My parents must be sitting on their velvet couch right now, arms crossed and fuming at the fact that I would dare to show my face again after running away. This is how I know they would never tell anyone my true identity- it would be such an embarrassment to have your cowardly son who ran from the Academy end up volunteering for a different district. Even more embarrassing than having a daughter who lost the Games by only a few contestants.

"Welcome, Jeremy!" Caesar announces, shaking my hand and clapping me on the shoulder.

I smile brightly at him. "Thank you, Caesar. It's great to finally meet you too."

"How are you settling in?" he asks as I get comfortable in my seat. "Enjoying the Capitol?"

"Very much so," I say with a grin. "I knew the Capitol was our glorious capital… I mean it's named after it, but I never realized just how beautiful it was."

"It's quite something," Caesar says with a light laugh. "And so are you! Such a high score for an outer district tribute, let alone a sixteen-year old. What can you tell us about your training session?"

For a second I wonder if the knowing look in his eye implies that he knows something, but I realize he's just expecting the same answer everyone gives. "I can't exactly tell you," I say with an easy laugh. "I don't want to break the rules! But I am pretty proud of have scored so high District Ten hasn't had a victor in many years, and I'm ready to represent them this year."

"Is that why you volunteered?" Caesar asks good-naturedly, like he's asking about the weather rather than life or death.

I nod cheerfully. "That very reason. And I know the boy who was Reaped-Timmy. He's my br… my adopted brother. His family took me in when I was out on the streets after being orphaned." I say all this matter-of-factly, but I can hear the murmurs of sympathy from the audience. "The least I can do is try to win them some glory and improve their lives with my winnings." I look to the camera, wondering if my family was watching right now, or if it was too painful. I'm not their real son after all.

"But more than that, I want to make District Ten proud!" I say, returning to look at Caesar with that charismatic grin. "I'm proud to call it my home, and I want to make it better. And to show all the other districts how we're the best… all in friendly competition of course," I say with a cheeky grin. The audience chuckles, and Caesar laughs his usual open-mouthed guffaw.

"Of course!" he agrees. I wonder if they thought it a friendly competition when my sister Maryann's face was ripped off by mutts all those years ago.

"We've talked about your family, Jeremy… but what about any other special people waiting back home? Any girls who are watching intently?"

The truth is that I've never given much thought to relationships or dating, preferring to spend my time with my family, but I know how the Capitol loves to gossip about love.

"Well, none yet," I say with a sparkling smile, turning a little to the audience. "But I might be open to it… once the Games are over."

The thought actually fills me with disgust, but my parents didn't leave out any details of what would happen to Maryann and I if we won the Hunger Games. I know what I would be subjected to- even if these swooning brainwashed baboons don't.

The timer goes off almost immediately, just as Caesar opens his mouth to say something else. He smiles at me with a seeming genuine fondness, clapping me on the back as I leave for my seat. "Jeremy Caulfield, everybody!"

Caiden is fuming when I sit beside her, but I pay her no attention. Her decision for her interview was stupid, but at least she was true to herself. At least she didn't pretend to be someone she's not, in almost every sense imaginable.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

The golden leaf crown on my head is heavy, far too heavy to hold up for as long as I have. It doesn't help that my hair is constantly in my face too, curled into waves that drape over my shoulders and down to my waist with extensions, straying into my mouth and eyes. The dark green dress they've put me in is hard to walk in, so tight around my legs I can hardly move. As I stand in sullen silence, I realize what a coincidence it is that I'm the one in a bad mood while Thorn is happily chatting away with the Twelve boy, Rylex behind us like nothing is happening. I've come to realize that Thorn's prickly personality isn't so much a bad mood as it is just his natural state of being, so it's strange to see him so genuinely cheerful.

"I just hope there's trees," Thorn says matter-of-factly, but with his signature sneaky grin. "You won't stand a chance against us then.".

"We'll see!" Rylex says with alight punch to his arm. The two of them laugh uproariously as Terra rolls her eyes. I can't lose Thorn to conversation now- not when I'm about to be dragged onstage and presented to the Capitol like a prized pig.

"Thorn," I say quietly. "Have you seen Seeder?"

He snorts in derision. "No. Good riddance."

Seeder has been distant since we argued with her, understandably shocked that I would let a knife fly in the apartment, and that Thorn would defend me from her insults. I'm not foolish enough to think I will fine completely fine without a mentor- we'll need her to send us sponsor gifts in the arena. But it is nice to decide for myself what I want to say and do. I doubt she cares in the slightest.

The Avoxes hurry me backstage in the next moment, where Caesar's voice echoes off the walls menacingly. "And now for our next tribute. She may be a small girl, but she might have a large chance at winning! Luna Everett!"

The doors open with a flourish, and I give a shy smile to the cameras as I move to sit with Caesar. I realize my entire body is shaking with nerves, but hope it won't show up on camera. Caesar smiles at me in a friendly way, and I feel suddenly that I can relax. Even if I do terribly, Caesar will carry the conversation.

"Welcome, Luna! How are you feeling so close to the Games?"

"I'm feeling… ready, Caesar," I say truthfully, voice wavering a bit. "I've done everything I can do to prepare."

"Well, that's good to hear!" He says with a dazzling grin. "You look absolutely stunning tonight, am I right?" he asks the audience, who cry out in agreement. I feel myself blushing like a schoolgirl.

"What kind of preparations have you made for the Games?" Caesar asks me now, fulling serious again. "Someone so small such as yourself must have some strategies to help you survive! Some of your opponents are rather large."

"I'm well aware that I'm the smallest," I say. It's true- the other twelve-year old Sparrow is much taller than me, with an air about her that makes her seem older. As for myself, I don't look like much. "But I've experience with gathering food, climbing trees, everything that comes with living in District Eleven," I say confidently.

"What about combat?" Caesar presses, apparently really set on the helpless little girl angle. "Do you feel ready to fight?"  
I pause for a moment. His question is one I've pondered myself for some time, but I know the Capitol won't want my true answer- that I'm not sure I'd ever be able to kill another person. "I've thought about it," I say vaguely. "I know I won't have the upper hand in any kind of combat situation, but I'm strong in my own ways. You'll have to see me in the arena to know what I mean… I'm not going to reveal all my secrets, Caesar!" I say with a giggle.

He smiles at me warmly. "Of course! Then what can we talk about… what about your family back home? Do you miss District Eleven?"

Surprisingly, I do miss it. Not the endless days in the orchards or the constant presence of the Peacekeepers, but the lazy hot weather and the smell of sweet fruits, the laughter of my parents in the other room when I wake in the morning.

"I miss it a lot," I say, misty-eyed. "I will do anything to return to my family. My little sisters, Roselle and Abella, and my best friend Jake, who gave me this." I lift up the silver bird charm dangling around my neck, watch as a camera zooms in on it. "I told him I would return it to him, and I don't intend to break my promise."

Caesar nods, his eyebrows drawn together in sadness. He almost looks genuinely upset, though he must have heard these stories a thousand times before. "A family left behind, a bereft young boy, and a determined tribute. I sense the makings of a fine competitor, what about you?"

The audience shouts and cries their assent, and I look around at all of the colorful faces, seeing glittering jewels and tears, and I feel for a minute like I might actually be able to do this. I know these people don't actually care about me, but if they think they do, then I may stand a chance.

The timer goes off, and my interview ends with that high note. I try not to smile as I descend to sit beside the boy from Ten, Jeremy, who smiles amicably at me as I sit down.

"And now, the handsome Thorn Guerra!"

As Thorn swaggers across the stage in his geometric black suit and blue shirt, stitched with trendy Capitol patterns, I realize he is somewhat handsome, in his own rugged way. His lopsided smile suggests the acidic words that I'm sure will come, but right now he could be described as dashing.

"Welcome, Thorn!" Caesar exclaims.

Thorn shakes his hand with enthusiasm. "Thank you for having me, Caesar!" his tone is somewhat sardonic but not with a full bite. "I'm glad to be here."

"Here in my studio or here in the Capitol?" Caesar asks with a light laugh.

"Eh, both," Thorn says with a smirk and a shrug. "I like to talk, so the interview is what I've looked forward to the most since the Reaping."

The audience laughs at that, as does Caesar. "Well, so do I! I think we'll get along nicely."

"Me too," Thorn says coyly. "I like to interview people too, you see."

"Oh, do you?" Caesar asks in interest. "Are there newspapers in Eleven that you're interested in working for?"

I harrumph a little to myself to Thorn's sly grin. "Not exactly. I just like to talk to people and see what makes them tick. It's a special talent of mine. I do write down the results sometimes, but no one else reads them. Maybe I'd write some things for Panem to read if I won."

"A writer then!" Caesar announces proudly. "Spectacular! I'm sure all of us would be delighted to read your writing!"

The crowd cheers in assent, and Thorn waves with a sarcastic smile.

"Anything else you would do upon winning the Hunger Games?" Caesar asks earnestly. "Anyone waiting for you back home in Eleven?"

Thorn's face falls for a moment, but he quickly leans back with a devil-may-care grin that makes me bristle- hopefully he doesn't start complaining too much about his family in case people think he's ungrateful or bratty.

"Well…" he begins with a fake sigh. "Not exactly any family- my parents died when I was a kid… or rather my mother did, my dad might still be out there, impregnating more whores as we speak."

The crowd ripples with murmurs disbelief, and I feel like hiding my face from the cameras. But I keep staring forward, knowing acting ashamed will only turn out worse for me in the end. Thorn doesn't seem bothered, just crossing his legs with another deep breath.

"But my grandfather is still alive, even if he's wanted me dead for years. I can't exactly say he's waiting for me back home… but there is one person who… I hope is waiting." All of a sudden he sounds nervous, even swallowing in a way that doesn't match his easy-going demeanor. "Her name is Georgie, and she's the only person in the world who I think really cares about me. I wish I had spent more time with her before I left."

"A young lady!" Caesar says in delight, clearly glad to be straying away from darker topics. "Of there's a pretty girl waiting for such a handsome young man such as yourself! Do you have anything to say to this Georgie?"

Thorn looks straight at the nearest camera, and I can see the genuine emotion on his face- confusion, fear, and even remorse. "I would say that she's the only person in the world who ever really understood me, and I shouldn't have treated her so terribly. And I hope that she would forgive me for everything that I've done, including what I'm about to do in the Games. But more than that, I would just want her to know that I'm not afraid of death, but I know it's not a joke anymore. I think she would be glad to hear it."

There's a short silence before Caesar pipes up, "Well, that's quite a confession."

Thorn's eyes are downcast now. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Caesar. But I'd like to change."

His timer goes off suddenly, even making Caesar jump. Thorn leaps up with a winning grin, but I can still see the desperation in his eyes. The crowd applauds loudly. I imagine his interview will intrigue enough viewers to give us an edge. I nod in appreciation to thorn as he sits beside me.

"Great job, Thorn."

He shrugs with another signature grin. "Nothing I said wasn't true."

 _Rylex Steele (17)- D12M_

I bounce on the balls of my feet as I stand alone in the corridor. Though I've been preparing for this for days now, I can't help but imagine everything that could go wrong- what if no one likes me? Or what if no one cares enough to have any opinion? My stomach twists at the thought. There's nothing worse than having an unmemorable interview. At the very least, the Capitol might remember my brother from five years ago. I'm not sure Alden would want to linger in the minds of the murderous Capitolites, but I'm sure he would want me to win. If bringing up his name will help with that, I don't think he would mind.

"And now for our next tribute, Terra Flint!"

Terra marches onto stage with a resolute expression. Her black satin gown reaches her ankles, accented with hints of sparkling orange that match her darker skin tone. But she looks anything but pretty- the hard lines of her face daring anyone to compliment her. As she sits in her plush white chair, I envy her. I wish I wasn't the very last tribute, expected to wrap up the show with a memorable interview. Some Capitolites have probably switched off their monitors by now, thinking watching Twelve interviews are a waste of time. The empty corridor is deadly silent, aside from my own breathing and that of the Avox on the other side of the hallway, head bowed. Caesar's voice issues through the television screen.

"Welcome, Terra! You look ravishing today! Such elegance!"

Terra sighs, rolling her eyes. "Not exactly what I would have wanted, Caesar, I have to be honest."

"More of a tomboy?" he asks eagerly.

She huffs with short laughter. "More like just don't give a shit."

The crowd murmurs, some laughing, others concerned. Swearing is a complicated topic when it comes to the Hunger Games, but she's certainly not the first to swear in her interview, though she might get some heat from critics.

"Well," Caesar says with a friendly grin, apparently not concerned. "What are you passionate about then? Anything that you just can't live without?"

"Well, food and water, for one, so make sure to send me that," she says with a wink right at the camera nearest to her. That earns her outright laughter and chattering which Caesar has to quiet with a motion of his hands, still laughing himself.

"That's a given!" he says with delight. "It seems to me that you're perhaps drawn to comedy? Much like our latest victor and his puppet shows?"

The camera focuses in on Tag Nylon, who waves with a steady smile on his face. Clearly he doesn't want to be noticed, gesturing back to the stage where Terra is sitting.

"Actually I think I'm more into… sleight of hand tricks," she says with a sly smile. "Maybe magic shows will do the trick."

"We'd love to see them!" Caesars exclaims. The audience is eagerly agreeing, and I can tell she's got them wrapped around her finger already. It seems her caustic attitude does have some benefits after all.

"Well, then you'll have to make sure I win," Terra says with a fake smile, eyes scrunched up.

"I would love to have another interview with you!" Caesar remarks. "Is there anyone else who is hoping that you'll make it out of the arena? Any family?"

Terra's eyes flicker with barely-there grief. "Only my brother, Dornan. He's always been the more 'responsible' one," she says with 'responsible' in air-quotes. "I'm the problem child, you could say. But we don't have any parents to call me that, so I guess it doesn't matter."

"What happened to your parents?" Caesar asks, now suddenly serious. "Did you ever know them?"

"No," Terra says matter-of-factly. "They left Dornan and me at the Care Home when I was a baby. We don't know why. We've always had to take care of ourselves, by any means necessary."

"What kind of means?" Caesar presses.

Terra shifts in her chair, some small signs of discomfort that I've come to recognize. "Are you trying to have me arrested, Caesar?"

He leans back with a laugh. "No, my dear. Just wanting some detail! What about your life since the Reaping? What is your favorite part of living in the Capitol?"

Terra pretends to think for a while. "Probably the… _everything_!" she exclaims with a huff. "You guys have no idea how lucky you have it."

As Caesar and the rest of the audience laughs jubilantly, the timer buzzes to signify the end of the interview. Caesar wipes his eyes as he introduces her one last time, "Terra Flint, everybody!"

Terra does a sarcastic bow before heading down to her seat. Though I know I should be happy that she killed it on-stage, I can't help but feel jealous and more than a little nervous as the Avoxes usher me back to the waiting area. I've never had trouble making people like me, but only because I was so desperate for it. Now that the time has come where it really matters, I'm afraid I'll choke.

I try to think of my mother as I stand shrouded in darkness backstage, Siggo's warm lips on mine in the waiting room right before the Peacekeepers came to drag him away. I think of Alden, choking on his own blood in the grass during the bloodbath. I have to live- to honor him, to be with Siggo, to look after my mother. All I have to do is tell the truth.

"And now for our very last tribute of the day, last but not least, Rylex Steele!"

The sliding doors open and the lights immediately blind me, but I put on my best winning smile and wave as I make my way to Caesar. He welcomes me warmly with a handshake, and I nod to him in greeting.

"Hey, Caesar," I say easily, sitting up straight in my chair. "How are you?"

"I'm doing great, thank you!" Caesar says in mock-shock, hand over his heart. "Finally, someone to interview me!"

The audience erupts in laughter and I keel over with it as well, glad to be starting off on a good foot.

"You look dashing, Rylex! It's great to meet you."

I look down at my simple black and blue suit, bringing out my bright blue eyes which are unique for District Twelve. I can tell the stylist was delighted to have something different to work with, especially since both Terra and I have them.

"Thank you," I say with a warm smile. "It's great to meet you too."

"How are you doing?" Caesar asks. "Enjoying the Capitol so far?"  
"Oh, yes," I say. "I would love to come back… but we'll see." I laugh nervously, which might not have been the best addition, but Caesar takes it all in stride.

"I'm sure there are many people out there rooting for you! Isn't that right?"

The audience cheers in approval, a few people screaming loudly and hollering with all their might. I find myself grinning as I look out into the ocean of painted faces. "That's very kind."

"Well, is there anyone else out there cheering for you? Perhaps any family, or even a girl or two? Such a handsome young man as yourself must have a few hanging off your arm."

I smile, trying not to seem uncomfortable. "Not really… I do have my mother. She's the entire world to me. I lost my brother to the… in the Hunger Games five years ago in the bloodbath, and my father died when I was a baby. She can't lose anyone else."

"I'm sure," Caesar says gravely. "Having two children reaped for the Hunger Games is a great honor, but losing them both would be tragic. Especially after losing her husband. How did your father die?"

I keep smiling pleasantly, hoping the pain in my eyes come across as pure grief instead of anger. I wonder what Caesar would think if two of his own family members were reaped- would he think it an honor then?

"He died in a mine explosion," I say quietly. "I don't remember anything about him. Now I work in the mines just like he did, with my best friend Siggo. I don't have any girlfriends, but I was hoping… well, just maybe..."

Caesar leans back with a slight smile. "Are we witnessing a confession? Do you think Siggo is watching right now?"

"I hope so," I say honestly. "But it's not much of a confession." I laugh nervously. "I think he's the one who confessed to me before I came here to the Capitol. I just… want him to know that I'm so thankful to him for being such a great friend, and always being there for me. And maybe ask him if he'd like to be a little bit more than just a friend if I come back home?" I ask, ending with a warm flush on my throat and cheeks, and the audience cooing. I clear my throat, realizing what I've done with a dazed smile.

"So sweet!" Caesar exclaims. "I'm sure we'd all love to meet Siggo eventually! Here's to your victory and reunion!"

The crowd goes wild as my timer goes off, and I stand with an embarrassed bow. It's a little humiliating to say your innermost thoughts to the entire world, but I'm glad that I got to speak my mind to Siggo. If I never get to see him again, I want him to know how much he means to me.

* * *

 **I hope you all enjoyed the rest of the interviews! Now there's only one more chapter until the bloodbath. Just so everyone's aware, just like last time, lots of tributes are going to die in the bloodbath. So prepare yourself! The storm is coming.**

 **Until next time!**


	24. Final Moments

**Hey guys! I hope the long waits in between chapters haven't been annoying you. I'm going to try to write faster for the Games chapters, I promise!**

 **Here is the final chapter before the bloodbath. For some of these tributes, this is the last time you'll see them alive! Muahaha.**

 **But really, I'm quite sad to see them go. Thanks for waiting and for reading!**

* * *

 _Bellona Presque (25)- Head Gamemaker_

It's a remarkable hot day, one of the first of this year. Late into spring when the Games start, everyone is ready to stay inside and lazily watch their television screen, the heat making it impossible to focus on nigh else. It seems fitting that our first scorching day is of the interviews.

The sunlight streams in through the window when the interviews start, the sun limping across the sky until darkness covers the city outside. As Caesar says goodbye to the nation, signing off with his signature grin and a flash of deep purple, his color for this year, the screen goes black as well, shrouding us in darkness.

"I would say that went remarkably well!" Livianus says, typical. The rest of the Gamemakers are getting to their feet, a few staying in their seats to look over some of the interview content again, picking out some clips for replay tomorrow before the Games begin.

I can't say I disagree with Livianus- we had no major disasters, no one screaming their hate for the Capitol, several likable tributes. A sibling couple, and one who refused to say anything- it's always a mystery to try and figure those ones out. And of course, there's the problem of Livianus' son, who was the final interviewee of the night. He still seemed to believe that his father died in a mine explosion, and suspected nothing. I side-eyed Livianus as he leaned against his chair, chatting amicably with another Gamemaker. The last thing I need is another scandal to worry about. Another secret to keep.

"Bellona?"

I turn immediately. The only person here who calls me by my first name is standing behind me, dressed as usual in bright pink. "The sponsorships are coming in fast," Marcelle says in a monotone voice. "My team will need access to the records room."

I wordlessly hand her the pass she needs to get into the guarded room, and walks away. My chest twists in grief, but I have to fix my attention back to the screen, which is now showing a three-dimensional model of the arena, in perfect detail. I have bigger things to worry about than my disintegrating social life. It's not like I valued it that much anyway- Gamemaking has always been more important.

There's much work to be done before the gong goes off tomorrow afternoon. The tributes will be settling into their beds, unable to sleep either from fear or excitement, or maybe a mixture of both. I feel a twinge of my old passion for the Games, imagining what it would be like to stand on that pedestal. I try not to think about what the Nylon boy said to me at last year's Victory Tour. He's just an ungrateful brat who I rose to be one of the most famous people in Panem. And I'll do it again with another one of these twenty-four children.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

Leto and I silently walk beside Celia and Cato as they murmur under their breath. I can't help but wonder that they're discussing me. What if my interview wasn't good enough? Is Leto the much more obvious candidate for victor than I am?

Celia glances back to the two of us, following them like a pair of ducklings. "Why don't you two stay to talk with the other Careers?" she suggests, putting a hand on Cato's shoulder to pull him aside.

"Alright," Leto says easily, turning back to where our allies are leaning against the wall in the hallway, Passion twirling her hair around her finger and laughing at something Farhoud said. As Leto and I approach, Callum turns to us from where he was standing passively beside Passion.

"Hello," he says mildly.

"Cyprian!" Farhoud roars, drawing me in with an arm around my shoulder. "It was a great day, wasn't it? God, I can't wait to get my hands dirty!"

"Me neither," Marlowe says, and for a moment I can see a glimmer of genuine excitement in her eyes, the look that a wild animal might have, a lion with a golden mane of hair, about to pounce. I swallow hard as Leto harrumphs.

"You guys need to stay focused on what matters- winning, not not killing for the sake of it. Or having fun." She looks pointedly at Farhoud.

"What? Cyprian, get your district partner to leave me alone. She thinks she can tell me what to do!" His arm tightens around my neck as he guffaws. Despite his words, he gives Leto a good-natured wink. "Don't worry, sweetie. I just want to show some of these little guys what District Four is made of."

"I think we should go over a definitive bloodbath plan," Callum chimes in.

Farhoud suddenly stops jostling me about and stops to stare, as does Leto beside me.

"Ah yes," Passion says coolly. "We were just talking about that earlier. I said we should do it."

I can tell she's lying, and Leto can too judging by her raised eyebrow. Callum doesn't seem fazed, just looking around the group with a neutral but expectant expression.

I wrestle my way out of Farhoud's grasp. "Fine. Tell me what I'm doing when I get back."

Without another word, I slip inside my dressing room, headed for the bathroom. I can hear Passion's loud opinions through the door as I fumble for the light. As it illuminates the room, I realize I'm not alone here and I freeze, staring at the man on my sofa.

"Hello, Cyprian," Volt says with a grin that reveals bright white teeth. "Did you like my interview?"

I fumble for an answer. He was charming as always, effortlessly so. So much that I wonder he does it so easily, without seemingly a care in the world. "Uh… I…"

Volt stands when as I stutter, feeling a red flush creep up my cheeks.

"I think we can forget about the games we've been playing. The big game starts tomorrow," Volt says smoothly, sliding over to me. The glint in his eyes is like that of a wild animal as well- but a different kind. A snake rather than a proud lion.

"I want to be honest with you, Cyprian," he sighs. "I know how you feel about me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I deflect weakly, ignoring my heart beating rapidly in my chest as he slinks closer.

"Don't worry," he croons. "I feel the same way. Haven't you realized?" He smiles, a genuine one this time. It reaches his bright blue eyes, making them light up. My heart catches in my throat.

"Volt…"

"Listen. We're both in alliances, right? Why don't you come with my alliance during the bloodbath? The Careers won't have to know where you went. With you in our alliance, we'll be unstoppable. And you and I… we can be together."

He steps into what would definitely be considered my personal space now. No one has ever been this close to me aside from during combat training. I try to stutter out a response, but he leans closer to me to lightly kiss me. The only thing I can think of is that anyone else would have to lean up to kiss me, but we're the same height. A perfect match.

Immediately after he pulls away, I blurt out, "I can't leave the Careers. They're counting on me."

He frowns. "I was counting on you…"

"We… we just met," I say quickly, inadvertently reaching out to grab his arm to prevent him from pulling away farther. "Give me some time to think about it."

Volt's eyes soften. "Okay, Cyprian. But the clock is ticking."

As I turn away without even going to the bathroom, I realize he's right, in more ways than one. If I die in these Games, it will be without ever having experienced love.

 _Sparrow Lavalee (12)- D7F_

Johanna heads straight for the kitchen as soon as we get back to the apartment, sighing as she pops open a bottle of liquor from the cabinet. "Care for a drink, anyone?" she asks, tilting the bottle to Raven and I suggestively.

"No thank you," I say politely.

Raven shrugs. "Why not?"

I give him a disapproving look which he ignores. It won't do any good to be hung over during the bloodbath, but maybe I should just let him have a moment of fun. I drop the matter and head back to my bedroom.

The room has been left mostly unused during our time here- I've slept in Raven's bed with him, like we did when we were kids. Partly because I was worried he would cough himself to death in the middle of the night, but also because I selfishly wanted to spend every last moment with him that I could. I sadly look around the room before opening the dresser, retrieving the photograph that Pa gave me. My mother's smiling face looks up at me. I tuck it into my pocket and head into the hallway.

Just as the door clicks shut behind me, another clicking sound catches my interest. I look around curiously, suddenly realizing that the noise is coming from the wall at the end of the hallway. I creep towards it cautiously, hearing Johanna and Raven laughing uproariously together in the kitchen.

"Ow! Watch where you're putting your foot."

I know that voice. I gently push the wall until a panel of the wood spins out of place, and Flux and Thimble tumble in a pile onto the floor.

"Thank god!" Flux exclaims, jumping up and rearranging her hair.

"Thanks, Sparrow," Thimble says politely, brushing his clothes off.

"How did you get in there?" I ask in amazement, gazing into the hole in the wall. I see a faint outline of stairs obscured in shadow.

"Tag told us about a secret passageway," Thimble explains. "We wanted to talk to you guys about our bloodbath plan."

"Where's Raven?" Flux asks loudly.

"Shh!" I tell her. "I'll go get him."

Johanna is passed out over the marble tabletop when I enter the kitchen, Raven slowly sipping a glass of whiskey. "Raven!" I hiss. "Flux and Thimble are here!"

He sets his glass down, slowly standing as not to fall over. "What? How?"

"Just hurry."

The four of us settle on Raven's bed, sitting in a circle with Flux reclining against the headboard, Thimble sitting up with his back completely straight, twiddling his thumbs. Raven settles beside me with a large grunt. "Well? What's up?"

"Have you been drinking?" Thimble asks sharply, disapproval coloring his words.

"Just a little," Raven says, squinting as he holds his pointer finger and thumb a few centimeters apart. "We have more important things to talk about."

"We should run," I say unceremoniously. "None of us except Raven will stand a chance against a Career. Raven and I have experience with the woods, so if there are trees then we will be able to survive without supplies for a while."

"I agree," Flux says. "I'm not about to get my head ripped off so early in the game."

Thimble frowns. "But are we really going to pass up on getting some weapons? We won't have another chance to get them."  
"How about this, Thimble," Flux says with a bite of sarcasm. "If you see a weapon that you can't live without, then go ahead and get it. But you might not live _with_ it either."

"I'm just saying," Thimble says lowly. "None of us exactly excel in combat… no offense Raven, but I know you've been sick or something. If we end up in a fight we'll have to have something to protect ourselves. And… I'm fast."

"How about this," Raven interjects. "We all find each other at the tip of the Cornucopia, then decide what direction to run in. Thimble, you can scan the area around you to see if there's something worth taking. We'll wait a little while for you, but not too long. If there's nothing near you, don't go too far in. It won't turn out well."

Thimble nods, his eyes fierce. I can tell he's happy to be given something important to do.

"And you," Raven turns to me, eyes hard but imploring. "Stick with me. No matter what happens, I'll keep you safe."

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

My last night in the Capitol is exactly what I expected- endless hours of tossing and turning, unable to stop the flow of images behind my eyelids. The little girl from Eight who was sliced open last year during the bloodbath by the brute from Two, Celia Winterbourne winning her Games by spearing the chest of the guy from Seven, the pack of wolf mutts that terrorized Cato and his opponent Thresh during their final battle in the 74th Games. I especially keep reliving the Games of Logan's mentor, the most recent victory for District Six. I was very young when he had entered the arena, but I remember a particular moment, when he stood over his district partner's lifeless body, her blood splattered over his smock, weeping and vowing revenge on her killer. That moment was always seared into my brain, even giving me nightmares when I was a child.

"Pagani?"

I startle, sitting up in bed and peering into the darkness. "Logan?"

He slowly opens the door, the light of the hallway briefly illuminating his face. "Would you like to come have tea with me?"

"Sure," I say gruffly, standing with a fake yawn. The lights of the Capitol twinkle brightly outside my window, and I take a moment to gaze over it, the city that never seems to sleep. I wonder how many people are eagerly awaiting the bloodbath tomorrow.

Logan is already boiling water for us, the kettle steaming happily. It's a strange moment of normalcy- I haven't had tea in years, not since my family was kicked out onto the streets. We barely have clean water.

Logan searches the cupboards until he finds what he's looking for. He lets out a noise of exasperation, holding up the tea bags for me to see. "Exotic Jasmine Blossom Tea for relaxation. Well, let's hope it works."

He hands me a cup and I take a sip. It's immediately strong, an unnatural sweet flavor that overloads my senses. But it does make me feel calmer. It's nice to have something to focus on. Both of us stare into our teacups in silence for several minutes, the slurping of tea the only sound. I find my eyes continuously being drawn back to the windows. With a pit of dread in my stomach, I realize those people will be watching my every move tomorrow. My life is truly no longer my own. Privacy will be a thing of the past, even if I do survive.

I wonder what our allies are doing right now. Is Rylex annoying an exasperated Terra by nervously talking her ear off? Is Dylan laying awake? I bet Volt is fast asleep, not worried at all about tomorrow's plans. He never seems to get worked up about anything.

"Is what you said about your family true?" Logan asks suddenly.

I glance back at him. "Of course it is. You already knew I lived on the streets."

"You didn't tell me about your brother," he says, looking down into his cup. "I didn't know you had one."

I shrug. "Never came up. What about you?"

"No siblings," he says solemnly. "But I want you to know that if I win, your family won't have to stay on the streets any longer. And I'll help your brother get treatment for whatever illness he has. The best in the Capitol."

The lump in my throat prevents me from answering. I simply look away, back outside to the sparkling artificial lights.

The next morning, after a few hours of fitful, nightmare-filled sleep, the escort comes to wake me with a huge grin.

"It's time!"

 _Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F_

Things are tense in the District Ten apartment as we make our preparations to leave. The hovercraft will be here soon, and my mentor still won't talk to me. After our shouting match about my low training score, and now my silent interview, everyone seems to have given up on me. Hopefully the audience feels the same way- _there's no way that boyish freak will last!_ But if it worked for Johanna Mason, why not for me?  
Jeremy is sitting pristinely at the kitchen table as we share our last meal, like prisoners being sent off to death row. His face is solemn, his perfect blonde hair and oh-so-dreamy blue eyes staring at nothing with the charisma of a dead fish. God, I can't wait to get out of here and back to Sultan.

My heart unexpectedly tugs at the thought of him. I wonder if he's watching right now, hoping I don't die so he can get a taste of me again. Did he think that my interview was hilarious? Is he worried about my low score? No… he knows that I probably did it on purpose. He knows me too well.

"Are we all ready?" the escort chirps, dressed in a ridiculous crocodile costume.

"Are _you_ ready for hunting season?" I sneer at her. She doesn't seem to understand, but smiles nervously.

"We need to hurry! The hovercraft has just arrived."

The elevator ride up to the top of the Training Center is tense. Jeremy stands stock still beside me. I wonder if the Careers will kick him out when they realize how much of a killjoy he is. I can only hope he dies soon so that i'm the only tribute left for our mentors to send gifts to. I have a feeling that they wouldn't willingly send me anything unless I was the only chance of a victory for Ten.

As the elevator stops, my heart drops into my stomach. I'm not afraid of death, but I want to live as long as I can. As fully as I can.

"Alright," Jeremy's mentor says gruffly. "Let's send you two off."

Jeremy walks forward with courage, but I hang back in the elevator. My mentor pushes me forward, and I go without complaint. The hovercraft is humming with energy as it waits for its passengers. Most of the tributes are already lined up to be brought inside, Avoxes lining them up. I stand silently in line behind Jeremy, turning to my mentor.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim loudly. "Please don't forget about me in the arena!"

Everyone's heads have turned to me. Now that I have their attention, I grab my mentor's face and pull her in for a kiss. She struggles, but I hold her tight for several moments until I pull her away. She wipes her mouth, eyes filled with more confusion than anger. I sigh contentedly.

"Thank you. My boyfriend will understand."

"Okay…"

"You won't hold it against me that I messed up everything? Will you?"

She clears her throat, eyes flickering around. I notice the Four mentors giggling along with their tributes. "Uh… no. It's okay, Caiden."

I beam. "Thanks." I turn back to the other tributes, many of whom are watching me with their mouths hanging open.

"You have nerve, girl," the girl from Twelve says with a raised eyebrow.

"Leave her alone, Terra," her partner says with a forced friendly smile.

I roll my eyes. I'm pleased with myself, and it doesn't matter what anyone thinks about me.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

As all of us are herded onto the hovercraft, Faroud is still giggling about the girl from Ten and her pathetic display, but all I can think about is the bloodbath. My foot taps against the ground impatiently as the Avoxes sit Faroud down in his seat, strapping him in. They come for me now, each grabbing one of my arms and roughly manhandling me into the seat. I growl in disapproval, but they simply strap down my arms with the same indifference in their eyes. The feeling of not being able to move makes my heart beat faster.

I know the bloodbath can't come fast enough. All of this tension has been building within me, all leading up to the ultimate way of letting it out- actually being in the Hunger Games. I don't think I've ever gone this long without some form of destruction, either on myself or others, emotionally or physically.

As the rest of the tributes file in, being continuously strapped down to their seats in silence, Faroud and Passion start going at it as usual. "I wonder what you'll look like covered in blood. What will you do if your hair gets matted with it?" Faroud teases with abroad grin.

"Did you just assume I'd be careless enough to get it in my hair?" Passion answers coolly, tossing around her black sheet of hair with a raised eyebrow.

"How about we have a little quiet time until we get to the arena?" Leto says. Her voice is steady, not angry, but Passion rolls her eyes and Faroud grunts as they both fall into silence. I would thank Leto if I didn't think it would make them angrier- it's good our team gets along but their grating voices were starting to get on my nerves.

Once all of the tributes have been fully seated, the hovercraft starts rumbling with a promise of activity, like the rumbling in my chest that I just can't ignore. I feel it in my stomach as we lift off, and suddenly we're drifting through the air. There are no windows, but I imagine the sparkling city floating away beneath us, the hovercraft disappearing into the clouds. It's actually a comforting thought.

I glance around the craft. My allies are all sitting straight- Faroud with an excited grin, Passioni with a smirk, Callum and Leto with blank faces, and Cyprian with his usual scowl. The boy from Five on the other side of me, Volt, is curiously looking at the ceiling as if trying to figure out the technology. The boy from Twelve has a nervous smile. The siblings from Seven are holding hands the best they can with their wrists strapped down.

"Can you move your leg?" the girl from Eight complains to her district partner, the pale and skinny one. His face is docile as he moves it to give her more room. I watch them for a moment longer, remembering this was the girl who gave Passion so much grief during training. She doesn't seem worried about it, sitting with her body relaxed.

"You two won't have legs once I'm finished with you," I hear a sudden biting voice. All heads turn to Passion, who is staring at Flux, her dark eyes boring into the other girl's.

Flux scoffs, not looking away. "I'd like to see you try."

The situation reminds me too much of what we have at stake: our own reputations. I recall my parents thrill when I told them I'd be joining the Academy to train, and their even greater joy when I'd been chosen as the volunteer. I knew it was the only chance I had to try and channel my destructive energy so I didn't completely destroy the family name.

"When I win the Games, after torturing you for so long that you beg for death, I'll have my father pay someone to find your own family and-"

"Stop it!" I yell. Passion halts mid sentence and turns to me. Her eyes are fierce, but as she opens her mouth again, Leto shushes her. I decide to stare at the ground for the rest of the ride, hoping against hope that it won't be too long.

 _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F_

Last night, I felt like I was on top of the world. After telling off Sinclair and giving the kind of interview I wanted to give, I thought I was unstoppable. But in the morning light, I'm not too sure. The Careers seem particularly aggressive today, arguing among themselves and with others. I know that energy will explode outward once we get to the arena. I know I won't try and go for anything too close to the Cornucopia- I'll probably grab the thing closest to me and book it out of there.

I take a glance around the hovercraft, keeping my chin high in the air to show them all I'm not afraid. Volt has the same serene expression on his face that he always has, surveying everyone else just as calmly as me. It fills me with fury, but I try and keep it pushed down. If the world is kind, then volt will end up dead after the first day. Him and his entire alliance, whose eyes he keeps catching every few minutes.

After about an hour, a few Avoxes appear from the cabin with long, pointed needles. The mentors had warned us about the tracking devices to be implanted in our arms, but that doesn't make them look any more inviting. The first of us to be injected is the boy from Twelve, who gives a shaky laugh as the Avox grabs his arm and roughly shoves the needle into his skin. He winces, letting out a long breath when it is removed. His district partner tries to resist a bit, but with her hands strapped down there's not much we can do. The Avoxes work down the line until they reach me. I hold my breath as the needle pricks me and the tracker is implanted deep into my body. But once the needle is taken out, the small drops of blood wiped away, I can't feel a thing.

Volt gives no reaction except for a pleasant smile to the Avoxes, seemingly uninterested in the tracker. His eyes are now rather on the boy from Two, the silent, hulking one. I wonder if he's planning his first kill.

After the trackers are all inserted, we sit in silence for the rest of the trip. It feels like we've been flying for hours, about three if I had to say so. I'm used to long train rides because of my illicit trips to the Capitol, and I'm accustomed to long travel times. But I can tell some of the others aren't- most of the Careers are shifting uncomfortably. However, I don't have any idea how far we've traveled- the speed of a hovercraft could be two or three times as fast as a bullet train… or more. I wish I had taken up one of my client's offers to ride around in his hovercraft. It had seemed too risky at the time given my illegal status, but now I'm regretting it.

It suddenly hits me that this might be the last time I'll ever travel at all, aside from running from my enemies. The thought fills me with sadness, and an incredible determination to win. I won't let the Careers or Volt's alliance scare me into submission to take away my chance at a full life. I've spent most of it in the Care Home, and the rest selling myself to rich Capitolites. I deserve a chance to be free and be the nation's darling, at least for a year until the next one comes around. I won't give up easily.

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

My arm is faintly throbbing from the tracker in my arm, and luna is wincing in discomfort. But I keep my usual devilish smile on my face, wondering if it will scare away any other tributes. I feel my old self return for a few moments, dying to talk to everyone around me and ask them what they think of their imminent deaths, of this whole magnificent joke. But I hold back because of Luna's trembling form beside me. Her eyes are closed, jumping whenever the hovercraft goes through a rare thump of turbulence.

I know this past day hasn't been easy for her- the interview, our mentor ignoring us, discussing our plans for the Games. She had wanted to grab something from the Cornucopia, but I knew that was a bad idea. I can make anything out of the natural landscape- sharp rocks, ropes and traps from vines, food from the trees. That is, if there are any. On the other hand, Luna wanted to stay near the Careers and follow them around, stealing from their supplies when they aren't looking. Probably the riskiest plan we could conceive, but I understand where she's coming from. A bold and daring plan not only has high rewards, but also might earn us sponsors.

We decided we would wait to see how we feel after the bloodbath. I turn to watch her again, her delicate and small features. Hopefully neither of us pose such a large threat that they'll let us get away.

I try to convince myself that even if they don't, even if Luna is speared through or sliced open, I won't be upset. Death is only a massive joke played on us mortals… but I'm starting to wonder if it's perhaps not a very funny one.

Who knows how much time has passed since the hovercraft gently thumps, slowly starting our descent into. Luna is squeezing her eyes shut tightly, audibly breathing out of her mouth. I imagine the craft lowering itself to underneath the arena, the people moving to and fro like ants in an anthill.

A few more minutes and we stop completely, the craft shuddering as we hit the ground. Luna sharply breathes in, a tear making its way down her cheek. I vaguely feel a twinge of the same emotion I imagine she's feeling- sadness? Fear? Anger? Hopelessness?

The door opens abruptly, and the Avoxes come around to start releasing us one by one, sent off with our respective Peacekeeper escorts.

"Thorn?"

I turn to see Luna's tearful face, her eyes searching mine.

"Yes?"

"You'll find me, right?" she whispers.

"Of course," I say matter-of-factly, lowering my voice. "You can count on me."

She nods, and I realize I might have actually made a promise that I meant to keep. As The Avoxes release Luna and take her away, a tightening of my chest warns me that we're sailing into uncharted territory. I want Luna to survive, to see one more eye-smile in her green eyes. I can't say I'd ever felt that kind of attachment to my family. Only once before to a girl to I ultimately let down.

But I won't let Luna down.

 _Callum Koche (18)- D1M_

Passion and I are among the first off the hovercraft, Passion quietly fuming with her arms crossed. As we wait for everyone to be released so they can lead us to our respective rooms, I take in the expansive underground of the arena. It's quite impressive, though simple and clearly not meant to be seen by general audiences. I stand passively to the side, listening to Faroud and Marlowe excitedly chatter to each other. I can't say I'm not also impatient- this is the moment we volunteered for.

I glance at Passion. Well, I might have volunteered for a different sort of reason. But my talk with Augustus a few days ago has given me a strange hope that perhaps I won't live in Passion's shadow forever. I practically told my family that I wouldn't be returning, and the idea that I might have spoken too soon, even just the seed of it in my mind, gives me a bit of hope.

"That girl thinks she can actually win this thing," Passion snaps, tapping her foot and glaring at Flux on the other side of the hovercraft.

"You do too, sugar!" Faroud bellows with a laugh.

Passion growls. "I heard that the Four tributes never know how to keep their mouth shut, but I still underestimated you!"

Their banter is cut short by a Peacekeeper shushing us, blank visor staring at us. I feel Passion bristle, but I put a hand in front of her until the Peacekeeper moves on. Faroud and Marlowe look surprised that a Peacekeeper would even dare to confront us, the Careers.

"He's right," Leto says with a raised eyebrow. "You guys need to focus. Right, Cyprian?"

Everyone turns to Cyprian, whose eyes are completely unfocused.

"Cyprian?"

He shakes it away. "Yeah? Leto's right," he grunts.

Leto doesn't look pacified. She does a once-over of her allies and sighs loudly before turning away, crossing her arms.

We stand in silence for a while longer, Cyprian continuing to stare at the hovercraft, as if waiting for someone, while Marlowe and Faroud quietly chatter together. Passion flips her hair back and sighs. I know if we were in District One right now, she would be chewing gum loudly and complaining to anyone would listen.

"How dare you touch me like that, Callum," she says lowly, catching me off guard.

"I was trying to protect you," I say with surprise. "That's what you brought me here for, right?"

The question sends ripples through the air. I've never talked to her like that before. I can see the anger flickering in her emerald eyes. "How dare you speak up to me like that?" Her voice is still low, which is how I know how serious my infraction is. If she wanted everyone to know about it, she would be screaming at me. But I've embarrassed her and she doesn't want everyone else to know about it.

"I'm sorry," I say demurely.

She looks me up and down, turning away with a flourish. "We'll talk about this after the bloodbath."

I don't respond, instead sizing up my opponents behind us. I came here to make sure Passion wins, but what if she doesn't? If I want to survive this, I'll have to stay on Passion's good side regardless. No one would want her as an enemy.

Two Peacekeepers arrive out of the long, dark hallway. Two of them gesture for Passion to come with them, one grabbing her arm when she doesn't move. She tries to shake them off while I watch wearily. The Capitol will have a storm coming if she ends up as victor.

"Come with us," another Peacekeeper says gruffly. I go with them without complaint, passively waving to the other Careers as they take me away. I don't feel nervous at all, only exasperated and ready to get it over with. Ironically, the bloodbath will likely be the least tense part of the Games for me. I know exactly what will happen- I'll protect Passion and if I die, then it's all over. Trying to survive the rest of the Games will be the real challenge.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

The door in front of me opens and I lightly shake off the Peacekeepers holding me by the shoulders. They let me go without protest, emotionless masks betraying nothing. I imagine they're on high alert for escaping tributes, because they continue to stand there and stare at me until the door swings shut behind me with a definitive lock.

"Alder!" my stylist cries, clapping with excitement as I turn around. The abrupt change in mood sparks a slight smile on my face, but I bury it down before she can see it.

"Let's get on with this," I say, meeting her in the middle of the room. A large TV screen covers one wall, where she will be able to watch the bloodbath right underneath it. I suddenly wonder if she'll be able to hear the screams of horror and pain from here.

"Ready to go?" she asks me brightly. "It's nice to have someone who feels confident! Usually my tributes are shaking in their boots!"

I stay silent. I know she probably hopes to become a Career stylist one day. Dressing a coldhearted killer must be her dream in life.

She unzips a case on the plush couch, revealing what I realize is the outfit I'll be wearing for the next couple weeks. First come the pants, a dull gray pair that feels lightweight when she lets me run my fingers over it. The top is skintight and covers every inch of my arms and neck, the fabric almost iridescent and changing colors in the light. A strange gold sheen seems to be its natural shade.

I'm not shy about getting undressed in front of my stylist, pulling on the warm underwear along with the uniform. The fabric of everything seems to let in air while keeping out the chilly air of the underground chamber.

"Oh, Alder!" my stylist exclaims. "You look like a victor already! I can't wait to see you on that screen."

There's still twenty minutes before I have to in that tube. I search in the pocket of my other set of clothes for the pin Kaia gave me. She probably found it in the mud after plowing season, where lots of ancient metal things are found. It's surface is marked with some unknown symbolism that I run my finger over as I remember the kiss we shared before the Peacekeepers tore her away from me.

I know regrets are pointless. Most things in life are pointless- school, talking, the Capitol. But I can't help but allow myself to regret not kissing Kaia earlier. For not telling her how I feel. For not spending more time with my family. All I know is that if I do end up getting out of here alive, I won't squander my time anymore. Whatever the Capitol wants me to do, I'll do it. As long as I get to be with the ones I love.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

My leg is bouncing uncontrollably. Once I realize it I try to stop, but my knee betrays me. What I need is a drink, a cigarette, something. Even Flux's lawless but comfortable presence. Now that I'm alone aside from my stylist, who is cheerfully whistling and examining the tube that I'll be ascending in soon. I close my eyes and try to think about something, anything else, before realizing maybe I shouldn't. I can't forget the plan- grab the nearest backpack and maybe a weapon if I can, then find the rest of the alliance and get out as fast as possible. I know I can count on Flux and Raven running away, but I'm worried about Sparrow. She's so small and an easy target. If she ends up by a Career, they won't hesitate to strangle her with their bare hands.

Not that I don't have my own life to worry about- I'm the one who'll be in chopping range of the Careers' weapons. And the weapons of others. I know some of the others have their own alliance who will be looking for some easy kills to start the Games with.

"Are you okay?" the stylist asks me, turning with a raised eyebrow. I can tell she's not interested in my well-being. She'll probably end up cheering if I die in the bloodbath. I shiver in fear and don't try to look friendly.

"Yeah. Do you have a smoke?"

She stares at me blankly for a moment, then walks with even steps to a cabinet on the wall, opening it with a clang and taking out a blank pack of cigarettes. My heart jumps into my throat- I didn't really think there would be any cigarettes in the vicinity.

"Some tributes like to have a final wish fulfilled," she answers my surprised expression.

I take a stick from the pack and lean in for her to light it, breathing in and out with relief as the familiar smoke fills my lungs. It's been less than a week since leaving Eight, but it feels like so long since I've had a cigarette. I take another huge drag, feeling some of the stress disappear. I don't exactly have to worry about the health problems of smoking anymore- if I win, I'll be able to buy any treatment or prevention for anything. And if I lose…

I watch the clock carefully as the minutes drain away, feeling my heart start to beat faster and faster as the cigarette slowly turns to ash. They fall to my feet as I sit slouching on the couch, puffing out smoke. Once the cigarette is too small to hold between my fingers, I flick it away and watch it smoke for a few more seconds. If I'm lucky, it will burn this entire place down.

"Fifteen minutes left," my stylist announces, striding over to fix my hair. I snort in disbelief, but of course the Capitol is more concerned with my appearance than anything else as I ascend to my death. I slip the locket that Rita gave me over my head and open it, smiling softly at my parents' happy faces. I won't have them to come back home to… but I will have a free life if I escape the arena. I know exactly what I'll do- I'll buy the Red, shut it down, help all of the boys and girls working there financially and buy them a place to live, and be free of my past. I might even try to open a school for the children like my Mom did. She might have been killed by the Capitol's negligence in the factories, but I can keep her memory alive.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

As I stand and feel the locks of hair tickle my back as they fall, I review my plan in my head. Don't get too close to the Cornucopia- only a maximum of five meters from my pedestal. Grab one or two items and run as fast as I can in the direction I have chosen. Preferably somewhere that looks like it will have lots of natural resources and places to hide, but I recall the desert arena from last year and am fully aware that I might not have a choice but to simply run anywhere I can. But above all, don't get too close to any other tributes.

All of the possibilities revolve in my mind, each stored in their own little compartment like a dresser of options. I know where everything is, and I'm prepared to bring it out whenever necessary, adapting to anything the other tributes or the Gamemakers throw at me.

"This really is such a shame," my stylist says sadly as she glides the buzzing razor over my scalp. I know she's had quite a fun time styling my hair for my public appearances, from my "electrocuted" hair for the Parade to the glittery mane she gave me for my interview. Even Caesar had mentioned it, leading me to believe the Capitol approved of it. But despite having this unruly mess of a head for my entire life, I know that it will end up as a detriment in the arena. How will I run through trees or keep it off my neck in hot weather if I can barely even pull it up with the ribbon my mother gave me? I can only hope the arena won't be freezing- then I might regret cutting away my natural insolation. But all I have is hope, and of course shock value. I don't doubt that the hairstyle change will earn me some attention here in the bloodbath, and maybe some people who will follow my moves in the arena.

Because I'm not going to die in the bloodbath. I'm not.

Of course, I can feel a slight nagging in the back of my brain, a tiny voice saying that maybe, just maybe I might not survive the next half hour. But I gently push it away and stay in my dreamland, focusing on the feeling of my mother's ribbon on my skin, tucked into my shirt so that I won't lose it. My token might not end up being so useful for me after all, but other things that my mother has given me will surely help me survive. My mimicry for one, my resilience, my determination. I'm not afraid to kill, and I'm not afraid to manipulate anyone. With my voice or otherwise.

"You're ready."

I turn to stare at myself in the mirror on the opposite wall. The stylist stands awkwardly to the side, clearly uncomfortable with making such a drastic change to my appearance right before the Games begin. But I find myself smiling- not necessarily from happiness, but simply a reaction that automatically comes to me when I don't know how else to. I look the same, but also so different. My hair has been buzzed to only a few millimeters from my scalp. The shape of my head is never something I thought I would see, but i find it quite pleasant. As for the rest of me, I still recognize myself in my eyes, the distant but distinct glint in them that my grandfather always said was the mark of an artist.

"The sponsors will be surprised!" the stylist laughs nervously. She's probably more concerned with her reputation than whether I live or die.

"I have a feeling I'll surprise everyone," I respond.

 _Rylex Steele (18)- D12M_

My hands are shaking as I enter the tube, watching the timer count down to five minutes left. My stylist is grinning, reaching in to part my hair before closing the door on me.

"Just do your best!" she calls to me, giving me a thumbs up.

The only person I can think about is Siggo and the kiss we shared in our last meeting. Well, not really. I'm also thinking about my allies- Terra, Logan, Dylan, Volt, and Pagani. Dylan most of all. He's so small… smart, but small. That was the reason why my brother Alden didn't make it past the bloodbath- he was tall, but wiry and weak. The Careers targeted before he knew what was happening.

But Logan did at least try to prevent this. We all plan to run in and grab the nearest weapon to our pedestal, as well as a backpack if we can reach one, before meeting up. Dylan was the only one who we decided should sit out. Instead, he would be in charge of finding a place to meet and running there. When we're finished, we'll all meet up with him and run away, hopefully with one or two kills under our belt.

I must say that when I joined the alliance, I thought more about protection and having some friends in the arena than I did actually killing together. Fighting side by side, and possibly losing. The thought sends shivers up my spine, breath coming quickly. I know I need to get a handle on myself quickly- I only have three minutes left. I can't look afraid for my first appearance in the arena. I try to place myself in Terra's mind. I know she gets upset or scared or even sad, but she nevers lets it show and instead stays calm and collected. I try to wipe the nervous smile from my face and replace it with an apathetic, even bored expression. But it doesn't work and I find my brow furrowing, not able to stop my trembling. Hopefully the anxiety will make my reflexes sharper.

I might become a murderer today. It's the only thing I could think about all day, and now that the time is finally here I realize I don't want to kill. I know I have to, of course, and I will if it comes to that. But I have a feeling I might end up avoiding the actual bloody parts of the bloodbath and try to pick up a few backpacks on the outskirts instead. Call me a coward, but at least I'll be a live one. Unlike my brother, who was dead before he could even try to grab anything. The vision of his throat spraying blood into the face of his killer plays over and over again in my mind.

"One minute!" the stylist cries, practically jumping up and down with excitement. She's already turned on the television, though the screen shows nothing but darkness. All I can hope is that it will at least be daytime in the arena. I have a faint memory of a past Games long ago when it was always nighttime, hated by some Capitolites and adored by others.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe in and out, in and out. It's always what Plosa, our mine manager would say to us when we heard any strange noises or felt a rumble in the walls. In and out, just like us everyday, in and out of the mines. Just like me, in and out of the arena. But my father died in the mines. And my brother died in the Games. It doesn't seem like my family has the best track record for this sort of thing.

Siggo's deep eyes appear in my subconscious, and I try to focus on them as I hear the timer slowly ticking away. That bold set of his mouth as he pulled me in for a kiss. I have to return to him. To my mother, who needs me. To everyone in Twelve who needs the extra rations.

"Hopefully I'll see you soon!" my stylist cries, and I almost open my eyes until I feel the ground start to move beneath my feet.

I make an embarrassing weeping sound, halfway between a whine and a grunt, as I'm transported higher and higher, until I feel a light breeze on my face, hear Claudius Templesmith's voice: "Welcome to the 78th Hunger Games!"

 _Marcelle Agelasta (26)- Gamemaker_

I sit primly in my seat in the shadowed back of the room, all of us holding our breath with combined nerves and excitement as the tributes are revealed to the world, along with the arena we've spent the better part of the year perfecting. I watch with satisfaction as the wind blows their hair, the camera showing each of their faces as Claudius Templesmith's voice echoes in the room. But I also feel a not so small hint of jealousy and disappointment- I didn't get the chance to work on the arena as much as I would have liked this year, instead assigned sponsor duty like last year. Already I feel the rest of the sponsor team fidgeting with agitation, ready for the calls to start coming in as soon as the bloodbath is finished and the survivors are accounted for.

I do a quick scan of the room, gaze stopping on Bellona in her high chair, her chest heaving with something akin to hunger in her eyes as she stares at the screens. She's never lacked for enthusiasm about the Games. I have a feeling that if she was dropped into that arena, she would have no trouble surviving. And would even enjoy it.

The other Gamemakers are just as silent, but most of them are smiling with pride, others focused on making sure everything is perfect on their tablets. Livianus is fidgeting in his chair as usual, but instead of looking pleased or excited, he looks worried. One of the others claps him on the back in a gesture of solidarity, and he only smiles back nervously. Ver yout of character for him… I wonder if Bellona has been getting on his nerves as well, or threatening to fire him for no reason like she did to Rowan. Maybe she'll simply get rid of anyone she thinks is a threat to her position, which is why she stowed me away in the Sponsor's Square as soon as she was made Head Gamemaker, completely forgetting how Rowan and I helped her to the top.

I'll have to talk to Livianus about it to see if he knows anything.

I think about Rowan, all alone at home watching the Games that he was supposed to help create. The idea for the arena was his, one that he had long ago when we were all still trainees. Bellona and I promised not to tell anyone until the time came that one of us were in a position to create it. And now he's sitting out, and Bellona is here taking credit for his amazing idea. For these Games are sure to be one of the best yet, surely one of the most memorable. The landscape, the mutts, the surprises… not to mention the tributes themselves. Speaking of, I should focus back on the callers that will be rolling in shortly. I don't want to miss any.

* * *

 **Ugh, it's so hard trying to decide who to kill! I think I have it all figured out, but every time I make a decision, I think, "wait… but they could have such a cool storyline doing** _ **this**_ **!". But I have to kill some of them, even if I don't want to. I genuinely love all of them and I'm very sad to see them go. If your tribute dies, I hope you won't be offended since this has been a very hard decision for me. If they do, remember that you can still sponsor another favorite if you collect enough points!**

 **Well, what do you think of the twists and turns in this chapter? Volt and Cyprian? The bloodbath plans of the various alliances? The final emotional moments between district partners? Caiden kissing her mentor? xD. I hope you all enjoyed it.**

 **Leave your bloodbath predictions as well! Who do you think will go far? Who are you _hoping_ will survive the bloodbath? **

**Thank you so much for reading and I hope you all have a great day! Until next time~**


	25. The Bloodbath

**It's happening, beetches! I hope everyone knows that a lot of tributes are about to die, so prepare yourselves. I hope that you're satisfied with the deaths and won't hate me if your favorite didn't make it. The decisions were very difficult and this is just how it ended up.**

 **Thanks for all of your continued support! I hope you enjoy our first action-packed chapter.**

* * *

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

I feel Adrienne's star broach heavy on my chest as the platform stops abruptly, leaving me standing in the arena which will now be my home for the coming weeks. I know I must impress everyone during the bloodbath- the sponsors so they'll help me during hard times, my father so he's proud, my mother out of spite, and of course Adrienne just in case I have a chance with her when I return. I know that I'm not about to die, but earning myself some notoriety during this first battle is a priority.

"Welcome to the 78th Hunger Games!" Claudius Templesmith announces, sounding just as excited as Faroud looks from across the field. The Cornucopia is set on a flat field, brown grass underfoot. The golden's horn's surface gleams with harsh sunlight, but there is a nice breeze that brings the temperature down to bearable. In the shelter of the Cornucopia it will be downright pleasant.

 _60...59...58...57...56...55..._

I can't see much in the distance, but I take a look behind our semi-circle and distinguish rolling hills to the left. According to the time of day and the position of the sun, that must be to the north-west. To the north-east, a dense forest awaits fleeing tributes. I can't make out much else but flat ground past the Cornucopia and to the south, but I focus on the timer instead. I'll have plenty of time to explore the arena later when we set out to hunt.

 _50...49...48...47...46...45…_

I sweep the area to find my allies; Faroud and Jeremy are next to each other on the far right side of the semi-circle, opposite to my location on the left. Marlowe is easy to locate by her glinting golden hair, about in the middle. Passion and Callum are both in between Faroud and Marlowe. Cyprian is frowning as usual at his spot near me, leaving us spread out quite evenly. The Gamemakers always have the sense to do that.

 _35...34...33...32...31...30..._

I direct my attention to the goodies at the Cornucopia, keeping my eyes peeled for a whip. Given I was one of the two highest scoring tributes, I expect the Gamemakers to provide one for me, and I'm not incorrect. But they haven't made it easy- it's nestled in the mouth of the horn, where I'll have to reach before I can get to the killing. I raise my shoulder in preparation and get into a sprinting stance. I knew this might be a possibility. I'll just have to kill anyone who gets in my way.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

I'm fortunate that the Gamemakers decided on an arena with a forest. I know exactly where I'll be running once I have my gear. I won't need any weapons of course- I'm perfectly capable of making them on my own. But while I'm used to living in the wilderness, I would like to have some form of shelter, or at least a way of making some, and especially a way to make drinking water. Or even a canteen full of it would be nice.

 _20...19...18...17...16...15..._

But I'm also unfortunate- there are two Careers near me, the boy from One to my left and the girl from Four only two spaces away. I wouldn't say that the guy from One is that much of a threat, but he's still a Career after all. I contemplate my choices as I reach down to slip off my shoes. The tribute to my direct right, the girl from Six with the dirty blonde hair and pug nose, looks at me with confusion, but I ignore her and hold each of my shoes in my palms. I'm used to being barefoot around the cult camp, and I'm sure the Capitol will remember me telling Caesar I don't like shoes.

 _10...9...8...7...6...5…_

Now's the time. I lift the shoes over my head and chuck them down to the ground between Callum and I, his surprised face and wide eyes the last thing I see before the ground erupts in dirt and dead grass, the force of it almost knocking me off my pedestal. But as the flying soil clears, I see the other tributes have all managed to stay in place as well. But I've done my job anyway- practically everyone has been caught off guard by the explosion right as the gong sounds, and I leap from my pedestal without hesitation into the disturbed dirt.

I feel it sticking to my toes, the pleasant sensation of upturned soil on my feet that I've missed so badly. Several of the other tributes are belatedly following suit, including Callum, who I can see out of the corner of my eye as I reach the closet backpack. I swing it over my shoulder and run back, paying no mind to the girl from Six, Pagani, who runs past me into the golden horn. I book it toward the trees, hearing the unmistakable sounds of pain and death behind me.

I'm used to the sounds of tortured souls. It was what I heard everyday at the cult, and it's what I've wanted more than anything to escape. I reach the trees in no time, glad to hear twigs snapping under the bare soles of my feet. The forest is dense and sudden, and it envelops me in a way that practically blocks out everything else. I don't look back, deciding to continue running until I can't anymore.

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

The explosion just from the other side of Callum's pedestal throws me off guard, and I end up waiting a few seconds before leaving my spot. My heart is pounding in my ears but I don't allow myself to feel afraid, instead feeling my chest close with steel as I watch the Careers and a few other tributes run headlong into the Cornucopia.

I hang back, desperately looking around for Raven and Sparrow, or even Thimble who is supposed to be gathering our supplies right now, but I can't see any of them. The only things that fill my vision are the blurs of other tributes fleeing from the scene. The girl from Three who was on the pedestal to my right has already grabbed a backpack and runs for the hills, quite literally. The first thing I notice is that she's shaved off her bushy hair, but I realize as well that she has the right idea- get out before the Careers see us. I notice that the guy with the long hair from Four and his buddy from Ten have grabbed weapons from the mouth of the horn, their sights set on some other tributes to the far right of the semi-circle. And then I see her - the girl from One, her green eyes filled with malice as she sneers at me with barbed mace in hand. I need to get out of here.

My feet take me around the semi-circle, past the other panicked tributes, past the girl with red hair from Nine who is already making her way toward the forest. Then suddenly I see Raven and Sparrow, hanging back on the outskirts of the mayhem. Sparrow clings to her brother with desperation. She turns to me and her eyes widen, tugging on Raven's sleeve as I approach. Her mouth opens in what looks like a warning, and I look back in time to jump out of the way of Passion's mace.

Dirt fills my mouth as she screams in frustration. "Did you really think I would forget?" she spits. I lift my head up to see her ponytail has already come loose, black strands of hair falling into her crazed eyes. She jolts the mace free from the ground, bits of grass and soil stuck in between its spikes. "Stupid, _ugly_ little girl! Calling _me_ a brat! At least my parents have money!"

She seems to be waiting for me to drag myself to me feet, which I do very slowly. I can see Callum hanging in the background, apparently having followed her here. She draws back the mace and advances on me. My breath catches in my throat as I dodge to the side, but the blow never comes. Raven has tackled her to the ground, no weapons in hand but still stronger and bigger.

"Callum!" Passion shrieks as Raven grapples for the mace. Callum instantly runs up, sword in hand and eyes determined. Raven immediately lets up and leaves Passion her mace, instead grabbing Sparrow's arm and dragging her away. I follow behind, heart racing and mind thinking of Thimble. How will he find us?

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

Tears in my eyes are making the world a little blurry as I try to find Thorn. All around me, the screams of agony and grief sharply cut through the air. Thorn was to my left, both of us luckily on the same side of the semi-circle. All I need to do is find him and get out.

I run blindly through the mayhem before accidentally charging right into someone's back. I fall to the ground with a thud, and I look up to see the girl from Ten towering over me, buzzed hair and bushy eyebrows as intimidating as ever. She raises one inquisitively, no fear showing in her eyes. She raises a sharp knife up from her belt, and my heart catches in my throat.

"Hello little girl," she says demurely.

"Thorn!" I scream.

But it doesn't matter- no sooner than the words have left my mouth then a different savior is coming; but one that could just as easily be an enemy. The sword of the boy from Two with the copper-colored hair descends into her neck before I can scream for terror. Her blood sprays from the wound and into my eyes, and I blindly get to my feet as Cyprian hefts the sword over his shoulder to hack again, Caiden's broken body laying crumpled in the grass, still twitching.

"Luna!"

I turn in relief to see Thorn standing not far behind me. I run to him and he embraces me with an uncharacteristic hug, and we set off from the Cornucopia without a word. We both know where we're going- the forest will provide the most coverage, and the most resources for our survival.

 _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_

My ears are ringing, hands and feel completely numb and tingling as I sprint to the outermost part of the semi-circle, past the pedestals to watch the battle. I realize I probably shouldn't just stand there and stare with my mouth open, but my limbs don't seem to be working. My chest heaves as I watch the pair from One chase after Flux, the other Careers grouping at the mouth of the Cornucopia. I desperately scan the scene for my allies, but none of them are visible anymore. I had noticed that Logan was on the right-most pedestal before the gong sounded, but now he's disappeared into the throng.

"Dylan!" I turn to see Rylex running toward me with a huff, eyes widening as someone else appears from the battle at the Cornucopia. It's the hulking figure of the guy from Four, huge arms flexing, grin plastered on his face, javelin raised over his head.

A sharp intake of breath hurts my lungs as I try to run away, sprinting toward the hills.

"Dylan, go!"

I turn back at Rylex's voice, just in time to see Faroud's javelin pierce Rylex's chest with such force that it splits out through his back. I can hear his gasp from here, like all of the noise from the bloodbath is erased and my mind focuses only on the moment when he hits the ground.

Faroud turns to me with a smirk. He pulls the javelin free from his corpse with one last twitch, his blood running down the thin blade.

"Run, little boy," Faroud taunts as he flicks the blood off.

I let out a sob as I desperately run for my life, my life flashing before my eyes. My parents, my friend Delta, the feeling of my dad's wedding ring on my finger as the javelin pierces through my shoulder. I fall to the ground with a cry.

I can barely see Faroud through the blur of pain and tears, feeling my blood bubble up from the wound and pool in my collarbone.

"Please," I gurgle.

Faroud just grins as he reaches for his javelin, tugging it out from my shoulder. The agony is unbearable, even worse than when it pierced me.

"Say hi to your friend," he says, bringing the point down hard into my chest.

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

Wind in my hair, adrenaline in my veins; I thought the bloodbath would be more joyful, but I'm already annoyed. I want that stupid girl dead, the one from Eight with the curly hair and a smart mouth. She glances back at me as she runs with her allies, and I feel a distinct thrill of pleasure at the fear in her eyes.

"We can't leave Thimble!" she shouts to Raven.

So there's another one of them that might end up ambushing us. "Watch for this Thimble kid!" I yell back at Callum, who stops in his tracks behind me and turns to survey the bloodbath. I continue on the trail of my prey, now quite a ways away from the Cornucopia and into the golden field. I grin as the small girl trips beside her brother, who hauls her back up and continues running.

I'll have my way with them eventually. I wouldn't mind running after them all day until they finally tire out, but my allies would be angry with me and Callum for not participating in the bloodbath. I need to end this quickly. And Flux, that insolent brat, will be the last one to die after watching all of her allies die bloody.

I toss my mace to the ground and pull from my belt one of the small hatchets I picked up from the Cornucopia. With a smirk, I draw it back over my shoulder and aim, watching with satisfaction as it buries itself into the little girl's back. She falls to the ground with a splatter of blood.

"Sparrow!" Raven screams, stopping and trying to drag her back up. Blood spits from her mouth as she reaches for Raven's hand, staining him red.

I laugh victoriously, grabbing my mace again and running toward them with triumph. Flux looks up at me with obvious fear and realization- they have no weapons, and I will slaughter them all.

"Sparrow…" Raven is squeezing her hand tightly, but her eyes are open and blank, lifeless. My chest heaves with adrenaline as I draw nearer, and Flux starts to try and pull at Raven's shoulder.

"Raven, we have to get out!" she screams.

But then something stops me in my tracks. Something I'd never thought I would hear- Callum's voice calling out to me from across the field. I glance back into the throng of tributes, and see him standing face to face with the pair from Six. Both of them have long blades in hand, standing determined at the edge of the battle.

Ugh.

I glance back at my victims, Raven who clearly doesn't care if he dies alongside his sister, weeping openly over her body, and Flux, who no longer looks afraid, but almost daring me to come closer to them and let my partner die.

My eyes narrow and I stalk closer, gripping my mace tighter… but then Callum calls for help again and I let my shoulders fall with defeat. I turn back to help him, not without shooting Flux a dirty glance over my shoulder, watching her pull the hatchet out of Sparrow's back with a jolt. The iron drips with thick sticky blood, and I can see her trying to ignore it. This isn't over.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

Backpack slung over my shoulder, I scan the scene for more easy pickings. We'll need supplies if all six of us are going to survive out in the wilderness.

Of course, it looks like our number might be a little bit lower. I notice something that looks suspiciously like Rylex's tall, scraggly figure laying in the grass at the edge of the semi-circle, and another smaller body beside it. That's too bad. I was hoping to have a large alliance, but it seems we've been reduced to normal size.

The bloodbath mayhem is just as I expected it. It's easy for me to slink past the girl from Two, Leto, whose pedestal was right beside mine, as she unravels her whip at the mouth of the Cornucopia. I snag another backpack closer to the edge of its mouth. I sneak past the body of the girl from Ten, left face down with the back of her neck cut through, the brown grass turned a dark red and black all around her. The girl from Five with the platinum blonde hair almost runs into me, but ultimately ignores me and heads to another mound of supplies, breathing hard with panicked eyes.

I grab another small pack and I realize I can't carry anymore- I'll need to get out of here soon. And yet Dylan, who was in charge of finding a place to meet, is presumably dead. I tried to convince Logan that I should be the one to plan this all out since I know how to keep my cool, but he would have none of it.

I can't see Logan anyway. He started just two pedestals away from mine on the right-most one, but he's since disappeared somewhere, hopefully alive. Now that Rylex is dead he'll be our main manpower in the alliance. Terra and Pagani are also missing, but those I don't care about as much.

Who I really try hard to find is Cyprian. As I creep around to the other side of the semi-circle, keeping low to the ground and slow as not to attract attention, I suddenly notice him regrouping at the Cornucopia with the other Careers, all except the pair from One. The pair from Four suddenly head off, looking worried about something. Before I can figure out what it is, Cyprian is moving toward me, powerful brows furrowed.

As he approaches, it occurs to me just how easy it would be for him to kill me, his muscles against my skinny frame, his speed and stamina versus my lack of training. His wickedly sharp sword versus my bare hands.

But he stops before he gets to me.

"Well?" I ask calmly. All around us, the shouts of the other tributes echo in my ears.

He swallows in what appears to be nervousness. "I can't go with you."

I sigh. "So, are you going to kill me then?"

He lifts his sword and kicks me to the ground with a strong foot. "No," he says. "Meet me tonight at that tree over there, at the edge of the plain, at that first hill."

I nod, and he lowers his sword, instead abruptly going after another tribute running past us who apparently thought Cyprian was preoccupied. It's the boy from Nine, feet flying as Cyprian pursues him. He manages to get close enough to slash into the boy's side, but he surprisingly doesn't fall but continues running, past the horn and toward the distant field past the Cornucopia. Giving up, Cyprian doesn't spare me another glance and slinks away, chasing after his allies.

I get to my feet, feeling nothing as I watch the boy from Nine limp away.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

My hackles raise as the boy from One, the silent one who does whatever his district partner says, stands face to face with Pagani and I. We've caught him alone, and so has he. None of our allies anywhere in sight, just the three of us in a bloodstained field with crickets chirping and the distant groaning of dying children.

"Passion!" Callum calls, sounding quite calm. "I could use some help!"

He knows that he might not be the one coming out alive from this. He scored an eight in training, the lowest of the Careers. And with my seven and Pagani's six, two against one, we're pretty evenly matched.

Passion doesn't respond. God knows where she is- probably off finding a pool of water to admire herself in. Pagani raises her knife and creeps forward. "Stay alert," I warn her. I've been in enough gang fights to know not to get too impatient.

"I know," she spits without looking at me, keeping her eyes focused on Callum. "Where is everybody? Can you see Dylan?"

I scan the outer edge of the semicircle for our allies, but see nothing. Except- wait, is that Terra creeping around the edge, trying to get to us? Leave it to her to know where to locate everyone.

"Passion!" Callum yells again, louder this time. Still no response, but I lift my sword up higher. Maybe it would be best to get it over with without drawing other Careers to us.

"Morphling?" I ask Pagani, hoping she'll know what I mean.

Thankfully, I can tell from the shift of her shoulders beside mine that she does. Callum gazes at us in confusion, and I don't hesitate to leap forward with my sword.

His own clashes against mine loudly, and he parries the blow with a strong twist of the arm, the blades scraping together roughly before coming apart. He is the one who delivers the next blow, sword raining on me from above, I barely manage to block it, arms straining to knock the blade away from me. My hair falls into my eyes for a moment and I shake it away, trying to parry his slashes as he steadily moves me backwards.

"Callum, finish it!"

It's the unmistakable voice of the girl from Four, her usually bubly, empty tone sounding fierce. The Careers must be approaching fast. I hardly block another blow from Callum's sword, my own so close to my face that it nicks me above the eyebrow, a droplet of blood trickling into my eye as I try to push him away.

Then suddenly he gasps, hand loosening on his sword as he turns to where Pagani is standing. Her knife is buried hilt-deep into his side, already staining his uniform red. He chokes and tries to reach her with the sword, but I bury mine into his back, coming out the front of his chest. He falls to the ground with a weak wheeze, ripping the sword from my hands.

In Six, morphlings often become violent if someone tries to apprehend them on the street. In order to take them down, you have to come at them from two directions at once. Pagani's mother being a morphling, I figured she would be familiar with the strategy. Pagani pulls her knife out of his side as I struggle to retrieve my sword, which has now been stuck into the ground underneath him as well. Pagani grabs his hair to pull back his head and slit his throat, stopping the incessant gurgling and groaning.

"Pagani, I can't get my sword out," I pant, adrenaline still high. I look over her shoulder and realize Passion is running toward us, eyes filled with confusion. "Shit! We need to go!"

"Just leave it," she says dismissively, pointing over my own shoulder. "We've got trouble."

I look back and see it's the pair from Four, each holding gleaming silver weapons.

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M_

How dare those idiots from Six kill Callum? The guy definitely wasn't victor material, but hell, he was a good guy and I had tons of fun making fun of him. Not to mention that losing a Career this early in the Games diminishes our numbers for hunting!

I can tell Marlowe is just as upset, breath coming in heaves as we chase after the culprits. She charges past Callum's body, but I stop to take a look at him. Sword buried in his back, head turned to the side and throat slit, eyes half-closed. They really did a number on him.

"Callum?" Passion has arrived. She stares down at her district partner's body for a few moments, then kneels down beside him. She's struck speechless, which from what I know about her doesn't happen that often.

"Don't worry, princess," I tell her, hefting my javelin closer to me. "I'm still here to keep you company."

She doesn't respond, continuing to stare at Callum's lifeless corpse. Fine, then. All that's left to do is to avenge him, which we'll do easily enough.

"Wait for me!" I call to Marlowe, but she's already halfway across the field. The pair from Six have joined one of their allies, the girl from Twelve, and seem to be looking around for the others. Marlowe charges toward them with a viciousness I haven't seen in her since leaving Four, the same determination and brutality that earned her the spot to volunteer for the Games. Her golden hair, does in an elaborate braid, trails after her. I try to follow, but ultimately I know that my size makes me slower, which is apparent the farther we run.

Marlowe takes a chance and throws her bladed baton, but misses all of them entirely. She roars with frustration, in a voice that almost doesn't sound like her own, and when she turns to pick it up, I see she has the eyes of a crazed animal. As I run after her, I glance around the Cornucopia, noticing Jeremy watching Marlowe's pursuit with a bemused expression.

"Why don't you try doing something?" I yell to him. He glances at me guiltily, then his eyes zero in on something behind me. I turn with my javelin raised, but Leto has already beaten me to it.

Her whip wraps around the ankles of the pretty girl from Five, her raised knife about to pierce my lower back. Leto tugs on the whip and she falls to the ground with a cry, dropping the knife. I pick it up and give Leto an appreciative nod. She nods in return and pulls the whip back to strike it over the girl's face. It's too bad- she really is quite pretty.

"Please, no!" she cries. "My name is Rai, and I can be useful to you! Let me join the alliance! Oh please…" she turns to me, welt raising on her cheek where the whip lashed her. "You and the other guys might be lonely with all of these Career women around. They don't know what a man needs, do they?"

"Sure, you're beautiful," I tell her. "But so is Passion, and I don't need two beautiful women nagging at me all day."

Her eyes widen in realization as Leto's whip wraps around her throat. She desperately tries to tear it away from her neck, to no avail. Leto lets go to give her a breather before starting again, this time not letting up until her pretty blue eyes roll back and she goes limp. Her neck is blue and a little bloody when the whip flies away from it.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," I say with a grin and a wink.

Leto only sarcastically winks back.

 _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_

"Come on, guys!" I scream to Logan and Pagani, gesturing to them to hurry up. The girl from Four is right on their heels. I hold my dagger tightly, preparing myself to use it. I've already seen Rylex's and Dylan's bodies lying in the grass, and I don't want to lose more allies.

Fortunately I was able to spy Volt by a lone tree at the edge of the brown field, waving for me to come meet him. With the bloodbath nearly over, it seems we've become a main target. We need to get out as soon as possible, while the other Careers are busy with the girl from Five and the corpse of their ally.

Pagani and Logan draw closer, but so does Marlowe. Her eyes are glazed over like a wild animal's as she manages to catch up, and I find myself running to help them. "Logan, watch out!" I yell.

Logan throws himself onto the ground, out of the way of Marlowe's baton. Pagani stops and sneers at her, brandishing her knife. "We've already killed one of you," she warns. "Don't make it another."

Marlowe roars and throws herself forward, Pagani barely dodging her blade. She tries to slice at Marlowe with her knife, but Marlowe is too quick, her own baton skating dangerously close to Pagani's arms and legs. Logan tries to get up without getting hit, but I realize he doesn't have a weapon. I'm the only one that can end this. I grip my dagger and leap forward with a scream.

My curved dagger slices open Marlowe's shoulder, and she lets out a huge shriek like that of a mutt. She turns to me and I realize very quickly that I've made a mistake, judging by the savage expression on her face. She looks like a predator, and I'm the prey. She laughs maniacally as she swings her baton blade toward me, managing to also block Pagani's attempts at getting at her from behind.

Marlowe edges me forward, the thin but wicked blade of her baton slicing closer and closer to me with each swing. Pagani tries to advance from behind, but Marlowe hits her in the stomach with the butt of her baton and sends her to the ground.

"Get to Volt!" I command her and Logan between breaths. Logan looks at me with a stern nod, gesturing for Pagani to get out.

Marlowe is grinning, closing in on me with every barely audible _swish_ of her baton, every clang when I lift my dagger to block her. Then suddenly I miss a parry, knowing exactly what misstep I made. But this isn't training with blunt blades and a padded floor- this is the Hunger Games, and Marlowe's blade slices open my stomach. I'm too surprised to feel pain, but I do scream she draws back to plunge it into my middle section instead.

I fall to the ground with a moan, watching as Logan and Pagani flee toward Volt, who is holding what looks like two or three backpacks. They'll be okay. They'll survive, at least one of them.

My last thought is that I perhaps understand why my parents left my brother and I at the Care Home. Who would want to have children when this is the possible outcome? Of course they gave us up, to spare themselves the pain of getting to know us before this happened. They might be watching this right now, glad that they don't know me. Or maybe they regret it, wishing they had been with me during my short life.

Then the baton slices open my throat, and everything else fades.

 _Raven Lavalee (17)- D7M_

All I can do is hold Sparrow's broken body in my arms, remembering the day she was born. I had been only five years old, but I remember the moment Pa had come through the door of the bedroom, holding a bundle of blankets in his arms. He hadn't been happy; too devastated over Ma's death that he always blamed her for. But I didn't understand the meaning of death then, and I didn't realize that Ma was gone forever. I was just happy to have a sister.

But I understand the meaning now. Sparrow is never coming back, and even if I survive, I will have no one but Pa to come home to. There's no love lost there.

"Oh, finally!"

I look up at Flux's exclamation, feeling only a faint twinge of relief when I see Thimble sprinting toward us at full speed, a large backpack over his shoulders and a machete in his hands. He looks concerned about us, and once he can see who I'm cradling in my arms, his face falls even farther.

"Oh no…" he says, out of breath when he stops. "Who did this?"

"That bitch from One," Flux says, arms crossed. "Go figure."

We hear some yelling from across the field, watching as Leto and Faroud dispense of Rai, Marlowe chasing after the other alliance, Passion still with Callum's body. Jeremy is standing at the mouth of the Cornucopia, but I notice Cyprian is still on the prowl for tributes, scanning the horizon.

Flux has noticed too. "Time to go," she says. "Come on, Raven."

"Yeah, Raven," Thimble says urgently. "It will be alright. She'll go back home now."

"Pa isn't going to want her body!" I spit out. "You should have been here to help us!"

"I was going as fast as I could-."

"Well, not fast enough," I snap.

No one says anything, but I can see the uneasiness in their eyes. "And you!" I start in on Flux. "If you had just kept your mouth shut during training and on the hovercraft, then she wouldn't have come after us. This is all your fault!"

"Well, jeez," Flux says sarcastically. "I'm sorry for trying to put the cunt in her place. I didn't realize she was going to kill one of us! It's not like we're in the Hunger Games or anything!"

"Stop it!" Thimble hisses. "We have to get out of here!"

"You guys go," I say, letting my shoulders go limp and staring into Sparrow's lifeless glacier-blue eyes.

"What? You have to come with us."

"Like hell I do!" I snap, glaring at both of them.

Thimble grabs my arm, trying to drag me away.

"Thimble," Flux sighs. "Let's go."

"But.." Thimble tries to get me to look at him, but I keep my eyes on my sister. He lets me go and the two of them head off, into the seeming never ending abyss of the field.

I sit for just a few moments longer before I realize I have no other choice. Sighing, I place one last kiss on Sparrow's forehead and run after them. Maybe I can just have a few final weeks of silence here in the Games, and help either Thimble or Flux take home the crown.

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

Surveying the aftermath of the bloodbath is almost more difficult than surviving it. Dead bodies litter the field, flies already starting to swarm around them. The sounds of crickets and faint birdsong seem almost too loud to handle. Passion seems to have finally moved away from Callum's body, as she's nowhere to be seen. Marlowe, Leto, and Cyprian prowl around, checking for any stragglers, but there doesn't seem to be any. Faroud is joyfully hollering about his victories, apparently to the unseen cameras.

I take a deep breath as I set down my short sword, instead grabbing a small knife that's hanging on the wall of the Cornucopia. I huddle inside the darkness so that none of the other Careers can see me, and only hesitate for a moment before I draw a long cut up the back of my arm. I wince as the blood seeps out and onto the grass, just deep enough to need stitches, and likely to leave a scar for the rest of my life if I do end up winning this thing. I shakily lean down to wipe the blood from the blade before sticking it into the belt that's around my waist, which I found earlier in a box of food.

"Jeremy!"

At the sound of Faroud's voice, I emerge from the Cornucopia. He's jogging over to me a smile on his face, blood smeared across one cheek. "Nice work, eh? I got two of 'em! I was hoping for more, but that's how it is…"

"Those big alliances hollowed out our chances," I say. "How many are there? Not as many as we were hoping, that's for sure."

"Ah, whatever," he shrugs. "We'll make up for it."

"Is Passion okay?"

"I think she's fine. So, how many did you kill?"

"None," I say. "But not for lack of trying." I lift up my bloodied arm, seeing the moment Faroud's eyes widen.

"Damn. I really thought you didn't fight at all. That's what it looked like to me."

"Well, I stopped after I got hurt," I say defensively. "I fought with that scrawny kid from Eight. He had a machete that I didn't see."

Faroud grunts. "Well, you need to stitch that up. Have you found any medical kits yet?"

"No, but one must be around here somewhere."

"Come on, everyone!" Leto calls from the middle of the semicircle, whip trailing behind her. "We need to make a plan for our first hunt."

Faroud and I approach her, as do the others. Passion looks strangely distant, Cyprian unreadable as always, Marlowe somehow not like herself at all.

"I'm ready," she says with a fanged grin. "Where do you think we should go?"

"Well, someone needs to stay behind and guard the supplies," Leto says. "After we pick everything that we need to take with us. Maybe you should stay, Marlowe. That cut on your arm looks nasty."

"I'm fine!" she says forcefully, with enough rage that I'm actually taken aback. The fire in her eyes is unmistakable.

"I can stay behind," I say, breaking the tension. "I was injured too."

"Good idea, Jeremy," Leto says with an approving nod. "Would you like someone to stitch that up for you?"

"No, I can do it. I'll need something to do while you guys are gone."

"Alright!" Faroud pumps his fist into the air. "Let's do this thing!"

* * *

 **Obituaries:**

24th) _Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F_ \- killed by Cyprian. Caiden's perspectives were always hella fun to write and I loved her character. She didn't take anything from anyone and was also unapologetically herself. But she was also arrogant and reckless, which ended up biting her back. But I'll definitely miss writing her, and about the other tributes' opinions of her. She'll be missed by her family and boyfriend back in Ten.

23rd) _Rylex Steele (17)- D12M-_ killed by Faroud. Rylex was such a sweet guy was kind to everyone and made a great ally and district partner. His sweetness is ultimately what killed him, trying to save his friend Dylan. He'll be greatly missed by his mother and by his friend Siggo, who could have been so much more. I will also miss writing him and his interactions with the other tributes, especially Terra.

22nd) _Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M_ \- killed by Faroud. Dylan's death is definitely going to affect his alliance most of all, having lost their brainiest member. But he'll be missed even more by his parents and his friends back in Three. Overall, I felt that I underwrote Dylan's character in the time that I had with him, but he was nonetheless very dear to me and it's hard to see him go.

21st) _Sparrow Lavalee (12)- D7F-_ killed by Passion. The decision to kill one of the siblings was very difficult, and ending up killing the younger of the two should by all accounts have a longer life, was even harder. But ultimately I knew Passion would come after Flux, and that someone would be at the receiving end of that force. Sparrow was too sweet and good for the Hunger Games anyway. She'll be missed by her allies, especially her brother.

20th) _Callum Koche (18)- D1M-_ killed by Logan and Pagani (kill officially going to Pagani). Callum was coerced into volunteering by Passion, but he did manage to have some kind of self-identity before his death. Unfortunately he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and separated from Passion. He was a deep down, a very sweet, loyal guy who didn't deserve to be Passion's puppet. Lots of people back in One will miss him, including his family and the other servants.

19th) _Raillen "Rai" Harkness (18)- D5F-_ killed by Leto. Rai had a great arc during the pre-Games, and I'm satisfied with where she ended up, even if she did die. I'm not sure she would say the same- she had lots of dreams about living her best life in Five without having to exploit herself any longer, but unfortunately those can't be realized now. Now she's able to find some peace without having to constantly pretend for other people, which is what she spent a lot of her life doing.

18th) _Terra Flint (18)- D12F_ \- killed by Marlowe. I'll definitely miss writing Terra. From her witty comments to great interactions with Rylex and her other allies, she was a delight to write. She died trying to protect her allies, which I think is appropriate for her reckless but still heartfelt personality. She might not have shown her emotions a lot, but she did care about her friends. She will be greatly missed by her brother and friends back in Twelve, who unfortunately will also be mourning the possibility of bringing home a victory for Twelve, since she and Rylex are both dead.

 **Kill Stats:**

Most kills: _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M-_ two kills: Dylan and Rylex.

All tied for second-most kills: _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F-_ one kill: Sparrow.

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F-_ one kill: Rai.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M-_ one kill: Caiden.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_ \- one kill: Terra.

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_ \- one kill: Callum.

 **Important reminder: I recommend that everyone who's planning to sponsor a tribute go ahead and count the amount of points that they're supposed to have, because I've definitely missed some here and there. Just let me know if you don't have enough and I'll change it. Sponsorships are also now officially open! Just send me a PM with what you what to sponsor and I'll send it in the next chapter or the one after that, depending on when it makes sense in the story.**

 **I'm so sorry if your tribute died! I hope no one is too upset, since that's kind of the name of the game. Let me know what you thought about the chapter, too. Any surprises? Any predictions?**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	26. Day One: Formation

**Hey everyone! I know I said I'd try to update more often and I meant it. No more than a week for the next chapter! Anyways, enjoy! :)**

* * *

 _Alder Kasha_ _(15)- D9M_

I keep running until my legs simply can't anymore, and I suddenly collapse onto the ground. Determined not to stop too soon, I claw my way forward, trying to stand back up before finally realizing I should stop and assess the situation. Now that I've stopped moving, the pain in my side is more intense and I can feel the slippery blood against my skin. I groan as I roll over so that the wound is facing the air. A gentle breeze blows grass into my face, and I smack it away.

I struggle to stand, closing my eyes and letting the sunlight wash over my face. Then they open, and I take in the arena around me. The grass underfoot is slowly changing from a dead brown to a lively green, and up ahead I can see a field of bright prairie flowers, their bright, cheerful colors mocking me. I groan as my side pulses in pain. When I touch it, my fingers come away sticky and red. This wasn't the best way to end the bloodbath, but it certainly isn't the worst. I try to keep that in mind as I grumble and slowly pull my backpack off my shoulder and onto the ground.

The pack is a deep green, easy to disguise in the green, grassy arena. The forest that was on the other side of the Cornucopia is invisible now, and the Cornucopia is naught but a small golden glint on the horizon. Still, I'm not far enough away. I don't see a lot of coverage on the prairie, aside from a few trees here and there. I'll need to get as far away as possible from the Career's base, as far as can be.

The sun beats down on me as I slowly sit on the ground, mostly hidden by the tall, flowing grass. I uncinch my pack and draw out each of the items, hoping against hope for some kind of medical kit. The first thing I pull out is a bag of oranges, about five in total and probably why the pack was so heavy when I was carrying it. I gratefully set them aside and root around for more useful supplies. There's a thick blanket that will useful at night, an empty canteen, and a small spool of twine. Not a lot for me to use to cover up my wound.

As I shift my body, the pain explodes in my side. I wince as I slowly roll up my shirt to see the damage, having to twist my head at an unnatural angle to see the slice through my waist. Luckily Cyprian's blade seems to have only caught the fleshy part of my hip, but I know that without proper treatment the bleeding could pose a problem. Or possible infection.

I imagine my mother and brother watching right now, worried out of their minds about me, and I keep my face composed. I don't need them anymore anxious than they already are.

I don't want to use the blanket as a bandage, but I don't have a lot of other options. I wrap it tightly around my waist, keeping most of it clear of the wound so that it will be clean to use if ever needed. I stand on shaky legs and continue forward, not looking back. The flowery prairie seems endless, but I know there must be resources out there. Water, food, a way to catch it. I can do this.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

I stick the curved dagger into my belt, still coated in my blood. The cut on my shoulder stings, but not nearly as bad as the itch underneath my skin to stab it into someone else. I look down at the empty face of the girl from Twelve and smile. I check her for more weapons that I could use, but find nothing.

"Marlowe!"

I turn around. Faroud is waving me over to where he's waiting with Leto and Cyprian. I job over to them, baton in hand. "We're getting ready to leave," Leto says. "Why don't you go let Jeremy put some salve on that." She gestures to my shoulder. I almost make a snide remark about not needing an outer district idiot's help, but I bite my tongue.

Jeremy is sitting in the shade of the Cornucopia, a bandage tightly wrapped around his arm. As I waltz over to him, he looks up with a half-smile that I don't return. "Where's Passion?" he asks. I shrug and grab the container of salve beside his leg. I silently spread some over my wound with my fingers and allow Jeremy to bind me up without a word. When he's finished, I head back over to the rest of the Careers, where Passion has finally appeared. She seems a little spacey, constantly glancing back at where Callum's body lies in the grass. We had taken out the sword from his back so it would be easier for the hovercraft to retrieve him, and it now in a scabbard on Cyprian's belt, another one in hand.

"How are you?" I ask Passion, realizing I need to keep up the charade of being an innocent, brainless golden girl. "Callum wouldn't want you to be sad."

"I'm not sad," she snaps suddenly, green eyes filled with malice. "I'm ready to go."

"We all are," Faroud says with a grin. "Ready to make some little kids scream, beautiful?"

Jeremy comes with us at first, just out of range of the Cornucopia so that the hovercraft has enough space to retrieve the bodies. Once it's done its job, he heads back to the golden horn with a single wave back to us. Faroud is the only one who waves back.

"We should head to the forest," Cyprian says in his deep voice.

"He's right," Leto says. "That's where anyone with half a brain would go."

"Those hills have less cover." Faroud gestures toward them. "They would be easier to find."

"They'll be just as easy to find later," Cyprian says darkly. "And the more we ignore them, the farther away they'll go."

Faroud huffs. "What do you think, Marlowe?"

"Don't care," I say truthfully with a sigh. As long as I'm spilling blood, I'll be fine.

A few more minutes of discussion ends with us headed for the forest after all. Leto leads the group, which doesn't bother me or Cyprian in the slightest, and also, most curiously, Passion. She doesn't seem quite her annoying self yet, but I'm sure after a day or two, she'll be back to normal.

As we take off into the forest, I feel the tell-tale singing of blood in my veins, the desire to lose myself in it. If we don't find another tribute soon, I'll need another way to let out the energy. And soon. After having a taste of blood, I need it again.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

It's much easier to run without my hair flopping in my face with every step, feeling the wind against my face. My breath comes heavily, feeling the backpack bounce on my back, legs starting to hurt after running for so long. The sun already feels like it's burning my skin, especially since I'm out in the middle of the prairie. All around me are the sounds of crickets and bees buzzing, the rolling hills covered in lush green grass and a few flowers.

As I run, I stick to the edge of the forest, where the trees slowly diffuse into the prairie. I don't want to stray too far away from the forest, where resources are likely to be found, but also where it will be hard to see the landscape around me.

I glance behind me for the first time, noticing the Cornucopia has now disappeared completely behind the mass of trees. I slow down for a minute, slowly jogging along the treeline. I take in my surroundings, quickly recalling my training in survival. There must be lots of animals around here; this won't be an arena where I'll have trouble trapping food. The ultimate problem will be finding water.

A sudden blast out of nowhere makes me jump slightly, almost falling over. I huff as six more blasts echo through the air. Only seven tributes dead? Seventeen of us left. Sixteen opponents. I expected to have twelve or eleven, even less. Not this much. That stupid large alliance is responsible, I just know it.

I take a look around to make sure there's no one around me before slowly entering a small copse of trees on the outskirts of the woods. Sitting in the shade of a large tree, right at the trunk so that anyone in the forest won't be able to see me, and I can keep an eye on the entire prairie.

I open my pack, careful not to make any noise. I pull out what looks at first like a container of medicine or even water. I unscrew it and sniff it, surprised that it smells familiar, like the eucalyptus that the trainers showed us in training to treat sunburn. I carefully screw the lid back on and set it aside. The next item is a ball of wire, which makes me smile. It will be helpful in catching food.

I also have a rolled up sleeping bag, which is very fortunate as well if the temperature drops at night. Then I pull out the ultimate gift, a canteen and a little bit of iodine. When I find some water, I'll be able to fill up my canteen and have a home base. But for right now, I need to keep moving.

As I pack up my supplies, something catches my eye on the horizon. My eyes zone in on it, heart beating fast in my chest. There, on one of the hills farther away from the forest, are the distant figures of a few other tributes. They're still far away, and don't look to be headed in this direction, but I don't want any chance of being discovered. Especially if they're the Careers.

I stay concealed by the tall grass, creeping forward with my eyes fixed on the figures. I slowly enter the woods, their darkness covering me almost immediately. It's like being in another world, the trees so tall and all-encompassing. I stick to the shadows and keep moving, keeping hills in sight as I migrate forward.

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

We jog together under the glaring sun, Logan in front and Volt coming behind me. Logan is definitely more fit than either of us, ending up several paces ahead while we lag behind. Still, I continue forward until Volt suddenly stops. I look back at him to see him doubled over holding in stomach in pain.

"Logan?" he wheezes out. "Can we stop for a second?"

I slow down and resist the urge to roll my eyes. "We really need to get as far from the Careers as we can, Volt."

"The Careers won't come this way," he pants, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"How can you know that?" I ask irritably.

"Just trust me." Volt plops onto the ground, slipping all three of his backpacks off his body with a groan. "We need to rest."

Logan jogs back to us, stopping with his hands on his hips. "Volt is right. We should see what we have with us… good job with that, by the way."

Volt winks, seeming pleased.

"I don't know if you two have noticed, but we've been reduced from six of us to three," I say hotly. "Not to mention we killed a Career ourselves, making us a target. I don't like stopping here in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, we should talk about where we're headed," Volt says calmly. "And for one, I'm hungry."

"This isn't a time to be thinking about food, townie."

"Just let the man see what we have, alright?" Logan says, sitting down beside Volt, but not without taking a cautious look around. To the southwest, the dense forest looms over the hills ominously. The hills themselves seem to go on forever. We've already traversed several of them, taking longer than it looks to travel over them.

"Look!" Volt says. He's holding a bottle of water, which he eagerly shakes in front of us while grinning. He also pulls out a winter coat, which makes me cock an eyebrow. The coat has taken up a lot of space in the pack, and there's only one more item- a pair of sunglasses.

"A coat and sunglasses," Logan remarks. The unspoken sentiment is in the air- what kind of weather should we prepare ourselves for?

Luckily, Volt has managed to snag two other packs as well. From the others, he pulls out a bag of dried jerky, a small loaf of bread, a bandage wrap, a bag of metal sticks and a tarp that might be useful in making a tent, as well as a warm cap, again pointing to a colder climate.

"We should save the water," Logan says. "We don't know when we'll find more."

"Agreed," I say, standing while clearing my throat. "And the food."

Volt gives me a side-eye for a second, then replaces it with a winning smile that I don't buy. "Okay," he says, placing the supplies back in the bag. "But I don't think we should go much farther."

Logan raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes," Volt says simply. "We should stay near the Cornucopia. Maybe we could even think about raiding it."

"Are you crazy?" I hiss. "We should be headed for a water source."

"We have water right here," he says solemnly, with the confidence of someone who has no doubts that he'll get his way. "And the sponsors will see that we're worthy of gifts. We killed a Career, after all."

" _We_ killed a Career," I say, gesturing to Logan and I. But I'm already starting to think he's right- we are in the Hunger Games. We're not here to run. We're here to kill, and I already have.

Logan sighs beside me. "We already have enough supplies, Volt," he says reluctantly. "I think we should keep moving."

"We have supplies, but only one weapon," Volt nods his head to the knife in my belt. "And the Careers took out half of our alliance. Don't you want revenge?"

Logan doesn't look completely convinced, but something does change in his eyes. "Fine."

The sun signals the early evening. Ee decide to start looking for a place to stop for the night, finding shelter at the base of one of the larger hills. Logan marks out an escape route if the Careers come upon us, along the hill and up a soft incline onto another, and far away from our makeshift camp.

I feel paranoid being out here without cover, easily spotted from one of the higher hills, but I have to admit that Volt was smart deciding to come this way. Lots of tributes will have set out to the forest, and here we'll have less unwelcome run-ins with others.

Sitting in the shadows, we plan our first raid of the Cornucopia.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

The cover of the forest brings me immense relief. The sounds of nature that I haven't heard since leaving Nine fill me with joy, and I find myself actually smiling as I practically fly through the trees. Even after my breath starts to hurt in my chest and my muscles ache, I keep going. Persistence is something that the cult teaches its children. How to keep harvesting grain under the hot sun, how to withstand branding, how to accept pain as a part of the sun god's will. But I can't see the sun in this forest. The trees are too thick. Maybe this means that I'm finally free.

I only stop once the trees' shadows start growing longer, as it gets harder to see. My bare feet slow against the soft, pine needle littered ground. I need to look for shelter for the night. The obvious choice would be to shack up in a tree, but I need to find one that's high enough that the Careers wouldn't be able to see me. After tomorrow morning, I'll continue forward until I find somewhere better to stay. Somewhere rougher, harder to get to, someplace other tributes might even avoid. That's the only place that I'll be truly safe.

I eventually find a tree that I deem high enough, and quickly shimmy up its long trunk. There aren't that many low branches compared to the ones around it, so no one would suspect that I would be up here. I arrange the branches so that they cover me, through the trees are dark enough now that it's hard to see anything. Luckily, I'm used to living without electricity.

I slowly unpack my single backpack, pleased to see that I'm supplied with some bananas. They'll give me some energy to keep going until I have time to catch my own food, though they'll go bad soon. I also have a small packet of iodine, though no container to keep my water in. They also packed a short length of rope for me, as well as a basic fire-starting kit.

I sit pretty in the trees for a few hours as the sun slowly sets, listening to the sounds of the forest as I drift off to sleep. The sounds are different than the noise of Nine, but I find it to be soothing in its own way. There's no parents waking me up at the crack of dawn to harvest or plant, no Elders waiting to pass judgements over our evening meal. Just me and the moon, winking at each other through the foliage of the trees. The sounds of birds chirping and insects humming.

Before long, the Panem theme plays and the Capitol emblem appears in the sky, barely visible from underneath the foliage. I watch in interest as the tributes' faces appear in the sky. First is Callum, the guy from One. A Career dead this early on? The large alliance might have actually made a name for themselves. Then the little boy from Three, Dylan. He was a member of the alliance. Maybe they weren't so successful. Following him is the girl from Five, Rai, the pretty one. Then the little girl from Seven. Seeing Sparrow's innocent face is the sky makes me shift on my branch. At least I won't have to kill her eventually. After her is the girl from Ten with the strange hair. I feel sad to see her go as well- she was also amusing to watch. She would have made a good victor. Last are both Terra and Rylex from Twelve. So the alliance didn't do so well after all. I can't say I'm surprised. I just wish they would have taken more of each other out. I was kind of counting on avoiding conflict for most of the Games, but now i have so many more potential opponents.

Just as I'm on the edge of sleep, I hear something faintly in the woods, and suddenly I'm wide awake again. It sounds like something- or someone- is crashing through the trees toward me. I'm regretting not finding a stick to fashion into a staff yet as the figure draws closer. It sounds too large to be a person, and I tense even more when I make out a lumbering shape far in the trees.

The shadow appears below my tree with a low grunt, it's large hide unmistakable; I've never seen a bear in real life before, but I've seen enough on the TV screen of other Hunger Games to know what they look like. And this one is huge- it's body bigger than one of the fallen logs, covered in thick brown fur, sharp claws digging into the dirt. It raises its snout to smell the air, and I hold my breath. It snorts loudly, then slowly ambles away until it disappears into the trees again.

I let out the breath I was holding and relax my body. One of those bears won't have any problem climbing up one of these trees. I can't forget that the other tributes aren't the only enemies I face here.

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

The day is starting to wind down, and so do Luna and I. My legs are aching, but I can't imagine how Luna must feel with her short legs. She's breathing hard by the time we slow down. The air is starting to get chilly, especially in the shade of the dense forest. We haven't traveled as far as I would have liked, with Luna's small size, but we have to slow down for the night before we start tripping ourselves and the branches and pinecones on the ground.

"We should find somewhere to sleep," Luna pants, holding her head high with hands on her hips.

"You think you're in charge here, girly?" I ask, with no heat behind it. She rolls her eyes and looks up to the treetops.

"If we were in charge we would be stealing from the Cornucopia right now," she says.

"You know that's not smart, and we don't need to," I say, watching a few birds chirp happily as they fly above the treeline. "We can make anything we need."

Speaking of, I grab a long stick from the ground that looks to be the exact thickness for a nice spear. I found a nice sharpening stone a few hours ago, its weight heavy in my pocket. Luna has spotted a worthy tree, and I take one last sweeping look over the forest floor before following her up the trunk. We have no problem climbing up; in fact the feeling of bark under my palms and it's woody smell. It's still strange though, especially since the trees aren't laden with any fruit or nuts. The scent of pine is overwhelming, as well as that of other foreign trees.

Luna and I sit in our tree for about an hour, me taking my time to sharpen my stick and her stripping a pine cone of its outer shell. "These aren't the kinds of pine nuts that are edible," she says sadly. "We'll have to hunt."

"Working on it," I grunt, shaving another strip of wood from the stick. It's coming along nicely, already very sharp. The problem is that the wood is weak and soft, and the spear will break easily.

Luna yawns, and I tut at her. "Feeling sleepy already, girlie? The game's barely started."

"Oh, shut up," she says, but with a slight smile. It's strange hearing those words from someone without shouting or the slamming of doors.

As night settles over the arena, the sounds of crickets start to rev up, the gentle wind through the trees, and goosebumps appear on my skin. I wish I had a piece of paper and a pen to write something about it, maybe a small piece of poetry.

Luna and I watch the faces of the deceased tributes shine through the trees. I find myself fidgeting uncomfortably for some reason. When I would watch the Hunger Games on the television, it never bothered me. It even made me laugh at times, in a way that always made Georgie mad at me. But now the thought of all that death creates a lump in my throat.

Somewhere far away, an owl hoots, and then there's another sound. The sound of feet on grass.

Both Luna and I immediately sit up straight and still. Her green eyes are wide and alert as we listen closely. We don't have to wait too long- the next thing we hear is the laughter of the guy from Four, followed by the snickering of his district partner.

"Hmm, who do you think we'll find first?" Faroud play-whispers as the faint silhouettes of the Careers appear through the trees.. "Who's waiting for my javelin in their throat? Or maybe I'll play with my food first."

"Will you shut up?" Passion gripes. "You'll scare away all of them."

"Chill out, sugar," Faroud says, a grin evident in his voice.

"Guys, I think I hear something," Marlowe says suddenly.

The group appears beneath our tree, and I feel Luna's breath catch. The guy from One is missing, dead from the bloodbath, but the guy from Ten is gone as well. There's only five of them, each carrying glinting weapons and unbothered, confident faces.

"Oh, you're hearing things, alright," Faroud laughs. She shoves him in the shoulder hard and he only bellows harder.

"Shush," Leto says calmly. "I hear it too."

I tense up, realizing we might actually need to flee. Then suddenly Leto's eyes travel up the tree to land on us.

"Go, Luna!" I yell, throwing my spear down my all my might. Luna swings from our tree into the next just as the point embeds itself in Leto's foot.

"Get them!" she screams.

Faroud's javelin barely misses my ear as I follow Luna, heart pounding in my ears and chest heaving. It seems our experience with working in the trees has come in handy as we continue forward, barely looking back. I jump from one large branch to another, almost toppling over but steadying myself with a hand on the trunk and leaping to the next, keeping my eyes on Luna's slight and nimble body in front of mine, leading me forward.

I can hear the Careers crashing through the trees for a while before the sound becomes farther and farther away. We keep moving through the trees, twigs slapping against my face and leaves in my mouth. Finally Luna stops and I almost run into her, knocking her just a bit forward before stopping myself.

"Have they gone?" she asks, breathless and wild-eyed.

"I think so," I respond quietly. "We have to keep quiet."

We sit in a huddle in our new tree, listening for the sounds of the Career until we both dirft to sleep together.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

"This is your fault," Leto says in annoyance, limping beside me. "You shouldn't have made so much noise."

"We were just trying to have fun!" Faroud protests. "You think I'm not disappointed too? I wanted to get my hands dirty again-"

"She's right," Marlowe cuts him off. "We need to stay quiet."

Faroud huffs. "Whatever." Then a few moments later, "I won't sing for the rest of the night."

Passion rolls her eyes. "What a relief!" she says sarcastically. She's been uncharacteristically quiet since Callum died, which is both a cause for concern and joy. I can't say I miss the sound of her grating voice.

We emerge from the forest into the clearing again, the Cornucopia a still distant glimmer on the horizon, reflecting the moonlight. Leto had wanted to get out of the woods after the wooden spear had pierced her foot. It had luckily only hit in between her toes, but she still winces in pain as she tries to move, and her boot is slightly torn open.

"I need to get this patched up," she says. "You guys should head south, and see what's there."  
I squint through the darkness, the moon and stars providing just enough light to see the seeming neverending field of yellow grass. But we're farther from the Cornucopia than ever before, and I swear I can hear the faint movement of water. Lots of tributes will be heading that way if they heard it as well.

"Good idea," I say, voice hoarse from not having used it in a long time. "I'll go back to the Cornucopia with you while the rest of you head that way."

"I can manage myself," Leto says, not upset but stating a fact. "You should go make some more kills."

"I don't want you alone with that Jeremy," I say, half-truthfully. Jeremy may be good with a sword but I'm sure Leto could out-whip him in a heartbeat. But I need a way to get back to the tree where I told Volt to meet me.

Leto raises an eyebrow, as if I dare insinuate Jeremy could overpower her, and Faroud snorts.

"I want to check the rest of the field as well," I say. "I'm curious."

"Fine."

Faroud, Marlowe, and Passion set out south while Leto and I return to the Cornucopia. As soon as Leto is sat on an unopened crate with a sigh, bandage in hand, I let her and Jeremy know I'm going to check the perimeter of the field. Jeremy watches me with unreadable eyes as I leave, starting toward the north-east prairie as not to arouse suspicion to Volt's location. All I can hope is that he'll meet me like I told him to.

My heart beats fast in my chest as I wander the perimeter of the field, the Cornucopia far enough away that I can't make out the figures of Jeremy or Leto, and hopefully they can't see me either. As I approach the tree where I told Volt to meet me, just ahead of the gently rolling hills to the north-west, I scan the landscape. I don't see him anywhere… I was a fool to think he would meet me, or be interested in me in the first place. He's probably already gotten over me and moved on. Not to mention I'm putting my entire alliance at risk, as well as my chances at becoming victor. Realizing this whole enterprise was a mistake, I turn around.

"Cyprian!"

Hardly able to believe it, I whirl back around. Volt is crouching at the base of the hill not far away. I start to sprint toward him before realizing I look like an idiot, and calm my pace.

"Hello, Volt."

His handsome blue eyes shine through the darkness of the night as they smile at me. "Hello, Cyprian. I've been waiting for a while. My allies will be wondering where I am."

"Where are they?" I ask, trying not to sound upset. "You didn't tell them what we're doing, are you?"

"Well it depends on what we're doing." Volt's teeth are bright white like the moon when he smirks.

I clear my throat, remembering that the eyes of the nation are on me. "I'm not leaving my alliance. They need me."

"And I don't?" Volt asks. "In case you didn't notice, your friends killed half of mine."

"I didn't do any of that," I say quickly. "I left all of your allies alone."

"I know." Volt steps closer to me. "I told Logan and Pagani I was going to rob the Cornucopia."

"They let you go alone?"

"Logan didn't want me to, but Pagani doesn't care if I die," he says with a light laugh.

I feel myself bristle at the thought of someone threatening Volt, but he doesn't seem concerned.

"Our days are numbered, Cyprian," Volt whispers, stepping closer to me. "I don't want to spend them without you."

I gulp. "Do you have a weapon?"

"Pagani has a knife, but that's all we have," he says. "Logan lost his sword."

"Here," I pull out my second sword from my belt and hand it to him. It looks comically large in his thin hands. I also give him some more rations , the little bag of crackers that I took with me as emergency provisions into the woods. "Will you meet me here again tomorrow?"

"I can't promise anything," he says. "Logan and Pagani want to move on and keep moving."

I feel my heart sinking. I finally put aside the thoughts of everyone watching from their sofas and lean in to kiss him gently. "Tell me what to do."

"I might have some ideas," he says softly, putting a hand on my chest. "But first I need to know that you trust me."

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

The gentle sound of rolling waves is what keeps me calm. If the arena was completely silent, I don't think I would be able to put aside my worries at all, let alone get the image of Sparrow splayed on the ground, blood covering her pale skin and eyes wide open. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and try not to think about it.

I can hear Flux's soft breathing beside me as she fidgets, keeping watch, and Raven, lying motionless on my other side. My machete is in my hand, ready in case anyone comes upon us. Flux has the hatchet that killed Sparrow across her lap, visible in the moonlight. It's still stained with blood despite Flux trying to wipe it off in the grass earlier. I imagine Sparrow calling out to us through the hatchet and squeeze my eyes tightly shut again.

My stomach is growling, but I don't have an appetite. It's just as well- we need to ration the miserly food rations in the pack I had grabbed. Only a few rolls of sausages, hardly enough for one person for a day. The other supplies in the pack consisted of a thin clear sheet which could be used for who knows what, a flashlight with a change of batteries, and a net. I had hoped for something more pertinent to our survival, but after realizing we had come upon the ocean, the net didn't seem too bad of a find.

The ground underneath us is a strange mixture of sand and grass, the transition point into the beach. The bushes around us provide good cover, especially in the dark of night, but I know that if the Careers head this way there's a good chance they will see us.

"Good," Raven had grunted when I'd expressed my concern. He's barely said a word since, staring up at the star-filled sky. When Sparrow's face had appeared, a few tears had crawled down his cheek, but he remained expressionless.

Fortunately we haven't heard anything except the crashing waves and distant cawing of seabirds. Despite our situation, I'm glad I'm getting to see the sea if these are my last weeks on earth. The water had seemed to go on forever, barely lit by the setting sun. Maybe tomorrow we'll all go down and catch some fish with our net and try to forget about Sparrow's death.

"My turn for watch," Raven suddenly says as he sits up beside me.

"Fine," Flux says easily. "But don't try anything."

"You don't get a say in what I do!" Raven says hotly.

I sigh as Flux replies with equal underlying heat, "Look, I know this isn't what you wanted but we have to make the best of it! You can't change the past."

"You'll see," Raven says darkly. "I'll have my revenge before I meet my sister again.

* * *

 **Everything's starting to come together. Let me know what you thought of the chapter as well as any predictions you have! Thanks so much for reading!**


	27. Day Two: Dawn

_Hey everyone! Sorry this update is so late. It's because the chapter is so long because we have so many tributes with so many things going on. Hopefully the content will make up for it, and I'll try to keep them shorter from here on out. Enjoy~_

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

Faroud, Marlowe and I have been searching for the edge of the woods, along the coastline, for hours without any luck. It's too dark to see much, and can't hear anything either due to the crashing waves on the rocks. At first the coast was simply a large cliff with rough rocks beneath it that Marloew tells me will cut us up badly if we touch them. But now the cliff is starting to lower into a sandy beach. Faroud has jumped from the short cliff and is stalking through the sand, the waves lightly lapping up to his toes. I can tell he's taking this more seriously than before, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Marlowe creeps beside me, her eyes scanning the field on our other side for any humanoid figures. I stare over at the horizon, where the sun is rising in front of us, illuminating the blue sea. It's so blue that it doesn't seem real, almost like a painting.

"Is the ocean usually so blue?" I ask suddenly.

Marlowe, who has been uncharacteriscally silent, turns to smile at me. Her eyes are a little less feral than they have been, but I can still see the restlessness underneath them. "Not in Four. The ocean is pretty muddy. This one is pretty."

It really is. Clear and glittering, washing up onto sand that's so bright it's almost white. It all reminds me of a necklace I have at home, a beautiful turquoise gem inlaid onto a white gold chain. I don't often wear too many colors, but it's one of my favorites. I recall Callum helping clasp it around my throat as I stood in the kitchen, admiring myself in the mirror. I'm filled with a strange feeling, perhaps nostalgia. The sun is now shining brightly above us as Marlowe and I head down to the shore to meet Faroud.

"There's nothing here," I complain, kicking up a cloud of sand. "This is useless unless you're planning on finding me a pearl, Faroud."

He grins at me. "What will I get in return if I find one?"

I just wink, feeling some of my usual self return for a moment. I don't want to let the others know, but I am feeling a little lost without Callum here. Not because he ever provided any ideas of his own-of course not. But I didn't plan to be here without him. He was going to be my protector, and now I'm all alone. Maybe it would have been better to just let the predetermined eighteen year old boy volunteer so that I would have a competent partner. It's no surprise that Callum would die in the first battle, given he wasn't the best fighter. Not like me.

I keep my chin raised as we continue down the beach, keeping our eyes peeled for nay movement on the horizon.

"What do you think that is?" Faroud asks suddenly, and we all stop.

I strain to hear whatever he's talking about, but there's nothing but the sound of the waves and seabirds. "I can't hear anything," I say dismissively, starting walking again.

"What does it sound like?" Marlowe asks behind me. I watch the distant sea as the waves slowly lap up closer to me. It's strangely both beautiful and terrifying.

"It's like a woman singing," Faroud says, sounding excited. "You really can't hear it? And what is that that my mother said about how I never listened to her?!" he bellows to the sky with a wide grin, immediately sprinting back to the way from which we came.

Marlowe rolls her eyes and starts after him, and I do the same after a moment of hesitation. Who would really be singing here in the arena thinking no one would hear them? Either Faroud is an idiot or the poor soul we're about to tear from the earth is.

 _Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M_

I'm sitting awake on watch as the Careers meander along the beach in the distance. My eyes zoom in on Passion, visible from her dark black hair flowing in the ocean breeze. I gently reach for the machete on Thimble's belt, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open with sleep. The Careers are still far away, but if I manage to catch them by surprise, I'm sure I'll stick the machete in Passion's neck before the others slice me to pieces. I can't have her winning, not after what she did to Sparrow.

I wrap my fingers around the base of the machete and draw it away from Thimble, keeping my eyes on the silhouettes in the distance. Then a hand wraps around my wrist. I glance down to see Thimble staring up at me with wide, warning eyes.

"Don't," he whispers.

"Wake up Flux and get out of here," I hiss back, quickly stealing the machete away. "I'll take out as many as I can."

"No!" he pleads. "I don't want you to die, Raven. You're my friend!"

"Oh, please," I say. "We've known each other for a week."

I glance back at the Careers and realize they've turned away and are already running in the opposite direction. My chance is already ending! I turn to tell Thimble not to follow me and see Flux's face instead, and she suddenly jumps on top of me to hold me down.

"Stop!" I huff, almost too loud. The Careers are practically out of sight now. I'll have to sprint to try and catch up with them. Enraged, I try to push Flux off of me only for her to be replaced by Thimble. The moment I wrest both of them away and stand up, they're nowhere to be seen.

"How could you?" I roared. "You know what she did to Sparrow!"

"Of course I do, I have it right here," Flux says coolly, lifting up her hatchet, still stained with Sparrow's blood.

"Then why did you stop me?" I growl.

"I couldn't care less if you die," she says matter-of-factly. "But we need your help here in the wilderness. Thimble and I don't exactly have much experience living in the woods."

I growl under my breath and turn to gaze over the light blue sea, illuminated gently by the sea. Then suddenly I hear something strange, a small tinkling sound.

We all look up to see a silver parachute slowly descending from the sky, right to our little coalition. All three of us are dead silent as the little silver box floats to the sand at our feet.

Thimble grabs it first, opening the box before solemnly handing it to me. I snatch it from him and peer at the contents, suddenly feeling choked up when I realize what it is. My mother's smiling face looks up at me, her familiar eyes that remind me so much of Sparrow's, and my own red hair. I had left it on my dresser, not wanting to be reminded of Pa giving it to me, and to keep myself from obsessing over the past and focusing on my goal. But I've already failed in my goal.

"There's something written on the back," Thimble whispers.

I flip over the photo to see an unfamiliar script in black ink.

 _Don't you dare give up! The people you lose live on within you if you carry on and remember who you are. I will forgive you if you die but I CAN NOT and WILL NOT forgive you if you throw your life away!_

 _J._

The lump in my throat is growing larger. Johanna and I spent a lot of time together before the Games, but I could never tell if she thought of me as a friend or simply another tribute she would lose a few days later. I almost didn't want her to care about me so that I could die peacefully. But now that Sparrow is gone…

"Let's keep moving," I say thickly.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

It's early in the morning when Volt finally returns, having been gone nearly all night. I had stayed up listening for the sound of that booming cannon to signify his death, and practically the end of my alliance that I had worked so hard to put together. Pagani, on the other hand, didn't seem concerned and spent her night getting the rest we all desperately needed.

We're both sitting under our little makeshift tent with our metal poles and tarp when Volt happily appears on the top of the hill in front of us, for a second giving off the air of an enemy come to jauntily kill us with the large sword in his hand. But as he comes down the hill, I relax and Pagani's hand loosens on her knife.

"You were gone long enough," she complains, but keeps a neutral tone, as if stating a fact.

"Well, I wasn't going to rush in and get myself killed. I had to take my time." Volt's blue eyes sparkle with something akin to mischief as he hands me the sword. "There you are, Logan. I thought you would appreciate a weapon after losing the other one in Callum's back."

"Thank you," I say, impressed. "You really managed to get this from the Cornucopia?"

"That's not all." He pulls out a little baggie of crackers as well. "Not much, but I figured we could use some more food."

Pagani takes the crackers and gently nibbles on one, eyes thinking for a moment before she shrugs. "A little stale."

"I'll take that as a 'thank you'," Volt says with a grin, plopping onto the ground and pulling out our sunglasses from one of our packs, setting them on his nose.

"It took you that long to grab a sword and some crackers?" Pagani asks.

I glance at her in warning, but she ignores me. The sword is a mighty find, especially since we only had one weapon between the two of us- her tiny knife. Any more supplies would have been a burden to carry.

"Well, the sword was close to the horn," Volt replies, unbothered. "And I spent some time looking for edible plants along the forest line on my way back, but I couldn't find anything yet except for some dandelions. But I chewed on those while I looked for you, so there's none left."

"I think we should get moving," I say before Pagani can respond again. "We don't want to stay near the Cornucopia for too long."

"We're not that close to it," Volt says dismissively. "That's why it took me so long to get back."

"We should still keep moving," I say firmly. He looks up at me with questioning eyes, and I meet them without wavering.

"Okay," he says with a shrug.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

The morning light shines through the trees of the forest as I push some brush away from my face, taking another step. My throat is dry and my skin torn up from the thorns on the forest floor. As I go deeper and deeper into the trees, it seems like they're getting taller and darker. One hour I'm standing in the dappled light of the sun with green all around me, and the next I'm surrounded by monumental trees, their shade almost completely blocking out the sky despite the edge of the forest being ten minutes away.

I'm not used to being around nature, growing up in Three. The trees growing thickly around me almost make me feel claustrophobic. I'm used to retreating into the safe haven of my mind when things are overwhelming, and I feel myself drift into that world as I dreamily climb over a large fallen log. At least it's not too hot here in the shade of the forest, but I still haven't drank water in at least twenty-four hours. My head is already pounding, but it's manageable. If I find a water source, I'll be able to use my iodine to make it drinkable.

Sometime in the afternoon, I decide that I've had enough of wandering aimlessly in the woods. I've been inside my own head for so long that I suddenly wonder if I've been walking in circles, not paying attention to my steps. Or if I've wandered too far away from the edge of the trees, and won't be able to find my way back. I scale the tallest tree I can find, recalling my training from the Capitol as I climb. I avoid looking down, but my palms become sweatier as I work my way upwards. Then suddenly I appear through the top of the trees, and see something I didn't expect.

A tall, almost perfectly triangular mountain is not far away, seeming to stick up out of nowhere. The landscape is dominated by the gently rolling hills and the thick forest, the mountain a jarring point in the arena. It's peak is shrouded in clouds from above that seem fixed around it, unmoving, and almost comically low in the sky. Clearly a Gamemaker engineered landmark.

The mountain will likely attract other tributes, and I don't see any clear water sources around it. I should avoid it for now, maybe checking it out later as our numbers are dwindled down. Instead, I lower myself through the branches of the trees again and sit on the lowest one. My stomach grumbles and my throat is parched. I rummage through my bag for my ball of wire, eyeing some of the larger fallen branches on the forest floor. There has to be a way to catch some food.

I'm not wrong. A few hours later and I've caught a fair-sized lizard in my makeshift snare. The lizard is only partially caught, the trap certainly not perfect, but I jump from my tree and break its neck before it can escape. I'm proud for a few moments, but my stomach grumbles again and I'm reminded of my lack of weapons or fire. I could make a fire if I had the appropriate materials… but there are no suitable flint stones as far as I can see.

Sighing, I resign myself to sharpening a stick to peel the skin from the lizard and eating it raw. There are worse ways I could be living in the Hunger Games.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

After our close encounter with the Careers yesterday, Thorn and I have been sticking to the trees and not coming down aside from when he sees a stick that might be useful to us. He's already made quite a few spears, explaining to me that each of them is likely to break after a first use. We've also managed to set up a trap for some food, and now await our prey huddled in a tall pine together.

I didn't imagine the Hunger Games would be this boring.

"I haven't seen any animals for hours," I whisper to Thorn. "Not even a bird."

"They shouldn't be scared of us since they've had no contact with humans," Thorn whispers back. "They just haven't come through here yet."

But I can tell he's also worried about the lack of wildlife. It's too still, too dry, too quiet. I miss the days sitting around the dinner table with my family, cracking the nuts we managed to scavenge from the orchards without anyone noticing, roasting them in the stove and munching down until there was nothing left. Instead, my family is probably sat around the television watching me sit in a tree, without food or water.

"I miss home," I say suddenly. Thorn glances at me sideways. We haven't talked about anything except the Games since we landed in the arena. He shifts uncomfortably, obviously not expecting me to say it so outright, but I feel like I have to. I have to pretend that we're still human instead of animals in a cage for the Capitol's entertainment.

"I don't," he says sharply. "But you can romanticize it if you want. Whatever keeps you alive."

I frown, lowering my head. I knew he didn't have fond memories of Eleven, but hearing his acidic comments never fail to hurt.

We sit in silence for a few more moments, Thorn sharpening another stick into a spear while I watch his precise movements. I'm thirsty, but I know complaining about it won't help anything. Thorn responds better to debating.

"We should go back to the Cornucopia," I say confidently. "The Careers are probably still out hunting. We could grab some water and food while they're away, and stay nearby."

"Not all of them were there," Thorn says without looking at me. "At least a couple of them were missing."

"They were probably hunting somewhere else, split up."

"We don't know that."

"Well, we _do_ know that we don't have any water!" I say in outrage.

Thorn looks at me then, with the full force of his bitter stare, like I've said something unforgivable. "Use your head, Luna," he says calmly, the caustic quality returning that I thought had disappeared when we'd decided to be allies. "Do you think the Gamemakers would make an arena without any water sources? Once we catch our food and rest a little, then we'll keep looking."

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10_

I look up at the bright blue cloudless sky, the burning sun high above the Cornucopia. The golden metal is burning to the touch, but the shade inside the horn is pleasantly cool. I sit just in the mouth of the Cornucopia, feeling a single drop of sweat run down my temple. Leto is pacing in the sunshine, past the boxes which we spent the morning neatly sorting and ordering. Cyprian is still away, and I can tell Leto is worried, but there haven't been any cannon shots.

But no cannon shots also means that our allies haven't been successful in their hunt. With only seven tributes down in the bloodbath, one of them belonging to us, we have a lot to prove. With such a strong Career pack, I don't doubt that we'll prove ourselves eventually.

From my training in One, and from everything that my parents always told me, the Career pack is strong this year, even with one of us dead. I'm glad I'll have strong allies to keep me alive, but that also means I'll have strong enemies when the time comes.

I glance up at Leto, her brow furrowed as she stares at the grass.

"You should rest," I say with a smile. "So your foot will heal." My own bandage is itchy on my arm, but it's worth not having to go out and hunt innocent people with the others.

She looks up at me with a frown. "I'm fine."

"We'll be able to go on the next hunt," I say with a knowing smile. "You're not missing out on anything."

"Not by the sound of it," she huffs, coming over to sit beside me. "Cyprian should have stayed with them. He and I are clearly the best of our alliance. No offense to you, of course."

"None taken," I say easily, scanning the horizon. "Where do you think Cyprian actually is?"

"Wherever he is, he knows what he's doing," she says confidently, but I can see the worry in her eyes. "How's your arm?" she changes the subject.

I shrug. "It hurts a little, but it's nothing I can't manage."

Leto grunts, her back turned towards me. "Well, you better heal quickly. We'll need your help soon."

The thought of having to kill other children suddenly hits me hard. I won't be able to stay sheltered here by the Cornucopia forever- the others will expect me to fight. I'll have to kill the ones who were Reaped, just like Timmy. My little brother who I did all this to protect…

I suddenly realize where I am and what I could do. I don't have to stay here with the Careers. I could take whatever I wanted from the Cornucopia and leave, set out on my own path. All I would have to do is sneak away from Leto. Or, I could go the easy route and just do what we're supposed to do in these Games.

But a battle this early in the Games, with my injury, which is much more incapacitating than hers… I'm not sure I would survive against her. She got a ten in training, and I only received an eight. It's clear who is better suited for battle. My better chance is to slip away.

"There he is!"

I suddenly focus back on the horizon at the sound of Leto's voice, hailing the return of Cyprian from the forest. He jogs until he's close enough that he can hear Leto's probing questions.

"Where the hell were you?" she asks.

He only grunts, then says quietly, "I was just looking around."

"See anything interesting?"

He shakes his head. He looks a little dazed, like perhaps he's dehydrated or something like that. I wordlessly hand him my bottle of water which he drinks gratefully.

"Where's your second sword?" Leto asks suddenly.

Cyprian looks down at his belt. "Oh. I lost it."

I raise an eyebrow and look at Leto to see the same expression on her face. But she doesn't push it, instead standing and starting to pace again. Cyprian sighs and retreats further into the Cornucopia with my water.

Sensing my chance, I slowly start moving around the supplies, looking for more water but also other things. Food, more weapons, more medicine and bandages, some backpacks with relevant supplies. I stuff one of them as full as I can, glancing around to make sure neither of them are paying attention to me. Cyprian isn't visible in the darkness of the Cornucopia, and Leto is not far in the field, gazing around in the direction where the other Careers had gone.

I nonchalantly start moving around to the other side of the golden horn, keeping my eyes on the supplies and acting like I'm still rummaging through them. Eventually I'm completely on the opposite side, invisible to either of them. I begin power walking away in the direction of the lush flowery field. I would rather have gone to the forest for more resources, but I guess I don't have a choice.

Eventually I start running, only looking back once I'm halfway across the golden field. I can't see anyone. They probably haven't even realized I'm gone. I just have to get as far away as I can. I don't want to have to deal with the Careers until the final days of the Games.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

I feel like I've been wandering in circles, the distant mountain I noticed in the distance behind me the only thing keeping me from returning in the direction of the Cornucopia. The land is almost completely flat with only a few short trees every now and then. The noise from the insects is constant, the sun glaring down on me with intense heat. However, last night the temperature had been pleasantly cool as I rested in the green, lush grass.

Though it seems cover would be hard to come by in such an empty open prairie, the farther I walk, the taller the grass becomes, and more frequent the colorful wildflowers, until they seem to be growing like weeds amongst the green. The color makes it difficult to perceive anything that might be hiding in the grass, which makes me nervous for any surprise attacks, but also leaves me options if I run into trouble.

I ate one of my oranges after waking up this morning, my stomach grumbling incessantly. However, without water, I still feel a little woozy as I continue forward. Water is my main goal, but I also want to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible.

The wound on my was it is also giving me problems. I"m sure with time and rest it would heal on its own, but despite having all the time in the world, I don't want to simply stop and rest for a few days, especially without can wait until after I find some.

After midday, the sun is the hottest. It glares down at me with full force, forcing me to take a break sitting on the ground, concealed by the tall grass. I sigh and pluck a pink flower, its petals an almost unnatural shade of pink. I wonder for a second if the flowers are edible or not, but recall how many tributes have died from eating unknown plants, and even animals in the arena. The trainers told us to never eat something if we weren't sure what it was, and so I set the flower onto the ground with a sigh.

Then I hear a sudden, strange noise, like a new insect that has awoken and started gently calling for its kind. Then something lightly hits me on the head and I curse myself for thinking something so stupid. It's not an insect, it's a gift from my mentor.

I silently thank them for not giving up on me despite my wound and open the small silver box, relieved to see a creamy, clear substance inside. The message attached says, _Apply three times a day to avoid infection_.

I look up at the sky and close my eyes, hoping to let my gratefulness across to my mentors without a large fuss. Not that I would ever thank the filthy Capitolites who sponsored me- they're the reasons I'm in the position in the first place.

I gently apply the salve to my wound, wincing as I do so and taking my first good look at it since this morning. It seems a little inflamed, but nothing som extra-strength Capitol medicine can't fix. Despite its length, it's not very deep. Perhaps I should rest for a while until evening, then walk a little bit farther until night falls. I want to conserve my strength, especially with my limited range of movement, in case I need to fight.

I recline back onto the ground, letting the defining sounds of the insects and the gentle wind fill my ears and block out anything else. Unbidden, an image of Kaia's face appears in my mind, smiling peacefully like she always does. Never put off by my aloof and somewhat aggressive demeanor, always there for me no matter what.

I know I need to return for her, as well as my family.

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M_

"Faroud, I think we should be searching for tributes, not weird noises only you can here!" Marlowe complains behind me as I scour the edge of the cliff for the sound of the singing.

"It must be a tribute!" I yell back, jumping from one boulder to the next, looking down at the blue waves crashing against the rocky coast. "It has to be! What the hell else could be singing in here?"

Marlowe grumbles, but keeps following. Passion is not far behind her, still slightly distant but seeming more like her old self. I hope she gets her strength back soon. Losing Callum was too bad, but I need some entertainment to pass the time in between battles.

Speaking of battles, I know there must be one coming soon. Whoever has been singing for the past hour is a huge idiot- I'm going to find them sooner or later and strangle them with my bare hands. We can't leave this hunt unsuccessful.

The singing, the gentle, lilting voice, gets louder as I progress onward. I know that I'm getting closer and the voice seems to know as well, getting louder and louder. I'm so close I can taste it!

"Faroud, I think we should stop!" Passion yells suddenly. "I think it's a trap!"

"Can you hear it?" Marlowe asks with a snort. "I can't hear a thing."

"Stop lying!" I snarl back at her without looking away from the sea. "There's no way you can't hear it!"

The song is coming from the water. I realize it now. It's right below us, in the gentle rolling waves that lap up against the rocks.

"I really don't!" Marlowe says in surprise. "You two must be crazy!"  
I stop and stand still, staring down at the water with fascination. Passion comes to stand beside me. It's the most beautiful singing I've ever heard, the song seeming to incorporate the noises of the water into its melody. It sounds otherworldly.

"We should get back," Marlowe says uneasily. "If I can't hear it then that must mean it's some kind of trick."

"We need to go down there and investigate," I say.

"Are you crazy?!" Marlowe shrieks, causing a few birds nearby to fly from their perches with annoyance. "There's no way to get down there! Come on, guys, we have to get back."

"I agree with Marlowe," Passion says softly. I wonder for a moment if she hears the same song I can. She must not- if she did, she would want to find the source as well.

Then suddenly I see a small splash in the water beneath us. A vaguely humanoid figure. "Did you see that?" I exclaim, just as Marlowe screams, "Watch out!"

I barely have time to look behind me before a set of wet, hot jaws snap around my head. I roll away from the danger, heart pounding as a grin appears on my face, the muscle memory of my training flowing through my limbs. I observe with one knee on the ground as the huge bear turns to face us again, all three of us watching with horror and amazement.

"The Gamemakers really outdid themselves this year!" I yell with glee as the bear lunges for us again. It's gigantic head is snapping for us again, several scars marring it's muzzle as if it had been in battles of this sort before. The three of us scatter, myself leaping away while drawing out my javelin. One of Passion's throwing axes imbeds itself into the bear's flank and it turns to snarl at her, roaring loudly. It's slow but powerful as it lumbers toward her.

I let fly my javelin, seeing my chance to become a renowned mutt killer. The point of the javelin sticks into the bear's neck, but the beast is so huge that it seems to be only a painful paper cut, its head turning toward me with a furious roar, reaching back with its snout to unrest the javelin and snap it in half. A smart bear.

"Uh oh," I say as the beast lunges toward me this time. Another one of Passion's axes flies into its side, but the bear ignores her, even Marlowe's attempts to slice at its feet with her bladed baton. I turn to run, loosening my axe from my belt and preparing to use it to defend my life. I wasn't exactly hoping to have to come so close to death so early in the Games, but that's just how the odds work, I guess.

The bear growls viciously, and I glance behind me to see the creature has stopped and is snapping its jaws at Marlowe this time, its legs bleeding profusely from her blade. Its raises one paw to swipe at her, bringing her to the ground with her hands over her head. Seeing my chance, I run back to it with my axe raised, letting out a loud yell to catch it off guard as I plunge the axe deep into its neck.

The beast roars loudly, nostrils flaring, turning to me with an angered look in its eyes, with suddenly strikes me as remarkably human.

"The damn thing won't die!" Marlowe exclaims, and I realize the mistake that I've made.

One of the beast's paws come up to pin me to the ground, and I barely register the feeling of its claws penetrating my chest as it roars once with triumph, ignoring the assault from my allies as it leans down to place me in between its jaws and raise me up. I finally let out a scream as its teeth pierce through me, feeling blood drip from my mouth and into my nose and eyes as the beast begins running back into the forest, each of its bounds causing me indescribable pain for a few moments before the world goes black.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

 _Boom!_

I glance up at the cannon shot, watching as a few startled birds fly from the tree tops. One less enemy to worry about. Can't say I'm unhappy about that.

What is bothering me is my lack of water. I haven't eaten anything yet since entering the arena, which hasn't been too hard due to my experience with fasting from the Skull Cult. But we always had enough water to drink back in Nine, unless you did something _really_ worthy of punishment that you needed to atone for.

The knowledge that I have iodine my backpack and yet no water to clean with it is the most frustrating part of the whole thing. I can only hope that I'll find a water source soon, preferably while I can still walk in this heat. Once I find it, I'll have a place to set traps and kill other tributes while staying out of the area, only returning when I need to replenish my water supply.

My foot crunches a leaf, dirt squishing between my toes as I carry onward. Though the trees are safer to stay in at night, especially after the bear I saw last night, I prefer to make my progress forward on foot. There's something about feeling the earth underneath my bare feet that makes me feel at home.

As I walk, I keep my eyes peeled for a long stick of reasonable thickness to use for a staff. If I do get caught by someone else, I'll need a way to defend myself. Preferably with a staff that has the ability to knock someone out cold with a few whacks so that I can get away.

It's mid-afternoon by the time I find a stick suitable for my needs, not too old or too heavy, which stays in one solid long piece as I lift it in the air. The height is just right to help me walk as well, which is good considering I'm feeling the taddest bit weak after two days without water. My throat is horribly dry, but I persist onward, smacking a few trees with my new staff as I pass them to recall my skills. My training returns quickly as I sidestep an imaginary blow and smack a tree trunk with enough force to send a real person to the ground. The impact reverberates through the tree and I hear a bird squawk at me indignantly. I laugh to myself as I continue onward, rejoicing in the fact that I don't have to hold in my emotions for anyone, even though there are probably thousands of people watching me right now.

If I want to eat one of my bananas, why shouldn't I? I stop to take one from my pack, unpeeling it and savoring every sweet bite. They will start to go mushy and bad soon if I don't eat them anyway.

Eventually I decide I should climb a tree to see if I can get a sense of where I am and where I should be going. I use all the strength I have left to scale the tallest tree I can find, huffing with exertion as I pop my head out of the leaves to survey the arena around me. The forest is massive, probably extending far beyond the constraints of the arena. There are the lush fields beyond the Cornucopia in the distance, and to the south the forest seems to stop abruptly. Another field, perhaps?

What really catches my attention is ahead of me, however. The huge, singular mountain wasn't visible in the dark of the night last night, but now it is practically lit by the sun, clouds surrounding its mysterious peak, far lower than they should be in an otherwise cloudless sky. It's massive, clearly a focal point of the Gamemakers. And therefore, shouldn't it be one for me as well? Last year, the mountains of the arena were plentiful with fruit and game. Not to mention this one looks much more treacherous than those, not to be traversed by the faint of heart. It's the perfect place to set up a camp, somewhere rough and tough where the other tributes won't find me, or better yet, will be too scared to climb.

 _Flux DuBois (15)- D8F_

The day is hot along the beach. There isn't much shade, aside from the occasional outcropping of rock, but we don't want to leave our best resource just yet, maybe even never. I personally would be okay with keeping on this path while the other tributes off each other, and then leave only when the Gamemakers drive us away.

Raven is lagging behind Thimble and I, his head low but feet moving regardless. Thimble keeps looking back to him with despairing glances, and I eventually grab his shoulder to make him stop.

"Just let him be," I say.

"What if he tries to run away again?" Thimble whisper-asks desperately. "They did kill his sister; he's not going to just let that go!"

"He's not going anywhere. Did you see what Johanna Mason sent him? And even if he did, we would be able to survive on our own. Don't worry, Thimble."

"It's just about survival!" he hisses. "I don't… I don't want to lose anyone else, Flux. Poor Sparrow… she was so sweet, and look what the Careers did to her. I can't lose another friend. Not this soon."

His words surprise me. Sure, we've been keeping each other good company, but the idea that Thimble will have to die for me to live had never really sunk in. "There's no use worrying about it," I tell him dismissively. "Sparrow died and we have to roll with it, keep on going."

"Did you seriously tell me to just _roll with it_?"

"What else are we supposed to do?" I ask, stopping in my tracks to glare at him.

He meets my eyes just as firmly. "Clearly you've never experienced death," he says, then continues onward. Raven follows him, eyes unfocused, probably not paying attention to anything we've been saying.

I shake my head and scoff. One of us is going to win, and the rest have to die. There's no use in worrying about it so much.

By the time the sun is slowly setting over the treetops, our energy is mostly gone. We have water all around but no way to make it safe to drink, although Thimble has been pitching us ideas for the past half-hour.

"We can easily find something to make fire. Then we put the water on that sheet we got, no, that will melt it…"

"What's that?" Raven asks abruptly. We all stop and stare ahead, into the distant ocean, where a lonely island rests, covered in tropical trees and housing what looks like something golden, glinting in the orange sunset.

"Some kind of trap," Thimble says darkly.

"We need to stop for the night anyway," Raven says. "I'll try and catch some food with that net."

Thimble obediently hands over his backpack, which contains our measly means of survival. The net might literally become a lifesaver though, especially once we run out of sausages.

Though Raven has never fished before, he clearly learned the basics in training, standing stock still as he waits for fish to swim into the net. Thimble and I set up a camp for the night near a boulder in the sand, and then Thimble goes to help Raven with reeling in the net. I sit in the sand and stare at the island in the distance, the shroud of mist surrounding it making it even more mysterious and alluring. There's no doubt in my mind that the Gamemakers tried to make it attractive to us tributes, which probably means that it's dangerous. We'll stay away unless we start getting _really_ bored.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

I hope the cannon shot that went off a few hours ago isn't Cyprian, or someone he had to kill who suspected our activities. He seems like a discrete guy, but also easily manipulated. That's easy to see.

We've been walking for a few hours, the sun beating down on us, but now it's finally setting and the insects are chattering incessantly. We'll have to stop soon, but Logan and Pagani have unlimited energy, it seems. I'm panting by the time Logan tells us to stop and to set up camp, this time at the base of another hill. Pagani and I silently set up camp with our sticks and tarp, and I manage to lay claim to the winter coat before she does to keep warm in the chilly evening air. All the while Logan is off checking out the area, only returning once the sun is almost fully set, the moon and stars visible in the sky.

"You guys won't believe what I saw," he says, shaking his head as he sits down beside me. I hand him a morsel of bread. He stuffs it in his mouth and takes a swig of water. The bottle I procured from the Cornucopia is almost dry already, all three of us partaking in it throughout the day. My stomach grumbles again and I take another bite of bread, trying not to think about my hunger and thirst too much lest we run out of supplies.

"What did you see?" I ask, chewing thoughtfully.

"It was something moving… It was hard to see in the dark. Like some kind of giant creature."

"We should stay away from mutts," Pagani says sharply. "Now that we're away from the Cornucopia we should start hunting; finding other tributes to take out."

"I agree with Pagani," I say coolly. She looks at me in surprise, but there's no uneasiness in her eyes.

"I don't know if we should just start killing people," Logan says, clearly sounding conflicted. "We still have some decency, Pagani."

"Why do you think we're here?" she counters easily, voice rising a little. "It isn't to walk around in the fields, let me tell you that."

"I think we should keep moving and kill whenever we can," I say. "No one wants to watch a bunch of people hiding behind trees. They want to see some action."

The implication is clear- if the sponsors see us prove ourselves, the food and water we need, as well as any medicine, will come quickly to us.

"We're not murderers," Logan says, frowning.

"Actually, we are," Pagani says lazily. "Or did you forget about Callum?"

The question hangs in the air, as I sit back and watch with hidden amusement as Logan's oh-so-pure mind tries to comprehend that he has indeed killed someone.

"He volunteered!" he finally says angrily, turning and marching away to go sit guard at the hilltop. The sword I gave him clatters against his leg as he walks, attached to his belt. I didn't mind giving it to him- I don't need a physical weapon to take out my enemies. All I need is my mind and my speech.

The Capitol theme suddenly starts playing. Pagani and I look up to see the emblem of Panem displayed just beneath the moon, so bright it hurts my eyes. There's only one face to show tonight- and to my surprise it's a Career. The big, strong man from Four smiles down at us with a charismatic grin. I can only hope that Cyprian didn't take him down after running into trouble with his allies.

After last night, I know that I can trust him. I told him my plan, and he agreed it would be the best way for us to continue on together. And after he gave himself to me completely, for what he said was the first time, I'm sure he will keep us a secret. People who are unused to love will do anything to get it.

 _ **The Fallen:**_

 _ **17th) Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M. Killed by a mutt.**_ **Faroud was a really fun character to write, and I'm really sad to see him go. However after setting everything up for the battle with the bear, I just knew he would dive right in and get himself killed due to his wild and reckless nature. I'll miss writing his perspectives and the other tributes' perceptions of him, which were always a highlight of writing the scenes with him xD. Unfortunately his mother back in Four is all alone now, but at least he died doing what he loved, which was drawing blood.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I'll try to update faster next time. Let me know what you thought of it, and your predictions!**


	28. Day Three: Creature Comforts

**Hey everyone! I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving ir you're American, and if not, just that you had a nice weekend :)**

 **I'm also excited to announce that we're being recognized by the 2019 SYOT Awards! I was nominated for best new author, and Volt Halvorrsson for best male tribute, and Blossom Urakaka for best female tribute. Thanks to whoever nominated me and these tributes! The voting period ends at the end of the year on December 31st, and I'm sure it would mean a lot to the creators of Volt and Blossom, Manectric and CragmiteBlaster, if you went and voted for them! I think they both deserve it. And if you would like to vote for me as well, that would also mean a lot xD**

 **Now onto the chapter~**

* * *

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

I wake up to the morning sun shining in my face, the incessant sound of insects, and the lumpy ground under my back. The tall grass around me shelters me from anyone overlooking the plains, but as soon as I sit up, I'm sure my head is visible. I scan the horizon for anything other than endless grass, but there's nothing except the faintest glint of gold in the distance of the Cornucopia.

I stretch my arms above my head and look to the sky, hoping against hope that some rainclouds will descend from the designed sky to grace me with some water. And yet, they remain as dry and blue as always.

I reach over to the pack of things I retrieved last night, first for one of the two water bottles I managed to grab before running away. It's more than most tributes have, I reckon, but still not enough to last me past a few days at the most. As I take a drink, a small jumping spider bounds onto my leg, and I smack it impatiently. One thing they don't warn you about when training for the Games are the bugs. And the dirt. I wipe some from my face as I stand with a groan.

I need to get a move on. Now that I'm alone, I can't just sit around and think about how ironic my life has become. I keep my thoughts on little Timmy and his parents, the kind family that let me in and gave me a reason to live for a few years. I methodically pack up my sleeping bag that I had luckily thought to grab, and take a handful of nuts from my food cache to slowly munch on as I progress onward. I swing the pack over my shoulder and start my trek.

I had made it quite far after running away yesterday, and I'm now deep into the flowery meadow, the green grass now so tall it makes it hard to walk quickly. Every step is a struggle to get my foot onto solid ground, crushing a cluster of grass everywhere I go.

As I move forward, another spider suddenly lands my shoulder, this one larger. I flick it away with annoyance, glancing around to make sure I haven't suddenly wandered through a spider web. There's nothing but the bright, colorful flowers. I continue forward for a few minutes until I hear a strange, mighty hissing noise behind me.

I turn to see a larger spider now, this one cowering in the grass beside me, clearly afraid but angered. I step away with my heart racing. It's the size of a basketball at least, it's eight eyes watching me closely. I try to stay calm and appear unafraid but also non-threatening, quickly continuing on my way. Luckily, it doesn't seem to follow me.

I keep moving until I can be sure that the creature won't ambush me. You can never tell with the Gamemaker's mutts. A spider is never really a spider, but a killing machine.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

The morning sun bears hotly down on us as we stand on the hilltop, each of us still stunned, puzzling over how to proceed. It seems the Gamemakers aren't holding back at all this year; not with the giant, ominous mountain deep in the forest, or the giant dragon that is now before us. It's visible from far away, its snout huffing out gray breaths as it slumbers quietly, tail swishing back and forth like that of a cat. I'm sure the Capitol audience is crooning over it right now, ready to go out and buy their kids plushie versions of the mankiller dragon.

"Well, it looks like we've hit a dead end," Volt announces. "Unless either of you are planning to become a dragon slayer."

I sigh. "You might be right, Volt."

"You two are cowards," Pagani announces. "Do you think the Gamemakers would put this here for no reason?"

"The reason is to kill us," I say bitterly. "We came all this way for nothing."

"I say we head back to the Cornucopia," Volt says. "I can steal more food and water for us and we can live in the woods."

"After coming all this way?" Pagani asks fiercely. "Where's the fearless leader we need, Logan? You're the one who brought this alliance together. Half of us may be dead, but we're still a force to be reckoned with."  
I feel a twitch in my cheek. "Don't come after my leadership, Pagani," I say lowly. "I've been leading people since before you were thrown out on the streets."

"Come on, guys, don't fight," Volt says with a frown. "We need to work together."

"What we need is water," Pagani says. She nods toward the sleeping dragon. "How do you think we'll get it without giving the Capitol a show?"

I side-eye Pagani as she strolls down the hill, dirty brown hair flowing in the wind. She's changed since the Games started. More outspoken, more confident, even proud. I would say it was a good thing if it wasn't because we had killed that Career.

"Guys!" Pagani suddenly exclaims. "I found water!"

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

Despite the lizard I ate yesterday, I still feel dizzy when I wake up this morning. So dizzy that I almost fall out of the tree I'm sleeping in. I'm sure the lack of water isn't helping either, but the food is something I can immediately fix. I set up another trap for breakfast, and within a few hours I've caught a small rodent, which I resign to skinning with a sharp rock I found a few hours ago. The meat is bloody and disgusting, but I'm so hungry that I'm merely thankful for the full stomach it brings me.

I spit out a small bone and wipe the blood from my face, staring down at the blood on my hands and feeling myself drift off into the clouds. What are my mom and brother Sedrick thinking right now, watching me devour the raw, bloody thing like a wild animal myself? What about Jessica, watching with a horrified expression? What have I become?

I know eating this way won't last me long either. My spool of wire will last me a while; probably the whole Games if I'm lucky; but my knowledge of trapping doesn't exactly include large-scale traps where I can catch larger animals, nor do I have the technology to cook them.

Once I've eaten my full of the rodent, I pack up my sleeping bag and the rest of my equipment, sadly gazing into the canteen with iodine placed inside, with no water. Then I continue on my path.

I'm not sure what I'm looking for at this point, but at least I'm alive and not completely starving to death. My mind is a little fuzzy as I blunder through the woods, faintly listening to the sound of birdsong above me and wind blowing through the trees. The peaceful noise is at odds with the slight blurring of my vision and the shaky feeling in my legs. I eventually have to sit on the forest floor and rest, realizing that if I'm going to keep going then I'll need some water.

Then I hear something so miraculous that at first I thought it was a hallucination from my dehydrated state, but it's real. A silver parachute is descending through the trees, getting tangled in a low branch so that I have to shakily stand and retrieve it.

My hands are shaking at the possibility of water, but I'm disappointed to see instead something I would never have expected- a small compact mirror.

Are my mentors playing a cruel joke on me? In my reflection I can see my disheveled appearance, the still strange sight of my bare head without hair, my dirty and sweaty face, the disbelief in my eyes. But then I catch sight of something else in the reflective surface. Small, dark clusters in the tree behind me.

I turn with a light laugh of disbelief. The tree is laden is plump black and purple berries, all of them ripe for the taking. My stomach growls and my throat is parched, and I immediately reach up for a berry, relishing in the delicious, sweet taste. I freeze for a moment, wondering if I should have thought the decision through more thoroughly, but it's too late now. Plus, I'll die soon without any hydration. It's worth the risk, despite the fear that crawls up my throat as I swallow another berry.

The berries are so plump and full of juice that I could almost cry in relief of having some liquid inside my body after three days. Pretty soon my clothes are splattered with dark juice, staining the golden sheen. It must be all over my face as well, the color sticking on my hands and under my fingernails.

After gorging myself on every berry I can reach, I sit back on the ground and run my hand over the forest floor, littered with leaves and crushed berries. It appears my mentors believe in me quite a lot, if they thought sending a mirror would be a better option than water itself. And the sponsors weren't completely put off by my shaved head when I emerged from the ground for the bloodbath. They did give enough money to send me something like this, small and unassuming, quite like myself.

I take the mirror into hand again, watching as the sunlight bounces off it and onto the ground, or into a tree trunk. I could really confuse someone with this, even blind them. Or, I muse, turning the light to a pile of leaves on the ground, even figure out how to start a fire.

With things suddenly looking up, I decide to stay here for the rest of the day, or maybe even a few, setting traps and eating berries.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

Leto growls as she kicks another pack from the ground, bunting it across the field. She doesn't even flinch at the pain of her injured foot coming into contact with it, her anger palpable as she storms back inside the golden horn where it's cool.

I sit outside on an empty case, staring out into the forest, wondering where Volt is and when he'll come back. I probably should be more concerned with where Jeremy has gone, and why, and how he played us for fools, but I really don't care at the moment. I don't even care that Faroud is dead, his face projected into the sky last night as Leto roared with fury.

All I can think about is last night, Volt's hands, his very kissable mouth, and his promise to return in a few days with a plan of how we can be together. I told him I couldn't leave my alliance, which was partly true, but now I'm doubting myself more and more. One of us has to die eventually, and I've never felt love like what Volt is giving to me. He actually cares about me, unlike my parents, my trainers, or even the Capitolites.

No one else will ever love me, that I know for sure. I can't throw this opportunity away.

"They're coming!"

I glance up to see Marlowe and Passion jogging back to the Cornucopia. Both of them have a strange stunned look in their eyes, like they were staring into a bright light for a while.

"What the hell happened?" Leto hisses, eyes hardened in a way that I became familiar with while we trained in the Academy together. It means someone's let her down. Big time.

"The arena is full of mutts," Marlowe says, spitting on the ground in disgust. "A giant bear took him. It came out of nowhere. It led us straight to it with a human singing voice."

"That wasn't the bear," Passion says suddenly, crossing her arms. "That was the thing in the ocean. I saw it and so did Faroud."

"You two are both crazy," Marlowe says, shaking her head. "Well, Faroud _was_ crazy. I couldn't hear shit."

"I heard Callum singing, and Faroud hear something too," Passion says stubbornly, her hackles raising.

"Wait, there's an ocean?" I ask in confusion.

"It doesn't matter who heard what," Leto says, her voice even and angry. "All that matters is that Faroud is dead! Now we're down to four."

"Where's the Ten kid?" Marlowe asks, her eyes flitting around the field.

"Ran off," I say simply. Everyone's attention turns to me, and Leto gestures for me to continue, sighing in frustration. "He left before we knew what he was doing. Probably took a bunch of supplies with him. He might be meeting someone else, or it could have been a spur of the moment thing."

"He didn't run when we left him alone," Passion says, rightfully. "It was spontaneous. And not well thought out, if he thought we wouldn't find him."

Leto turns sharply to her. "So we all agree that we can't let him get away with this?"  
"Of course not!" Marlowe says, eyes blazing with anger. "Does he think he can just cheat the Careers and get away with it?"

"His district would eat our scraps if they could," Passion says with disgust. "Literally!"

"Then let's get him," Leto says quietly. "We will not be the weak Careers of last year's Games. We will show the strength of our districts! For the honor of Panem!"

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

Luna and I move through the forest silently, occasionally a twig breaking under our feet. After our encounter with the Careers, we thought it best not to leave any footprints or tracks of where we've been, and so moving through the trees themselves was out only option. But after not finding water in three days, our energy is so depleted that I'm worried Luna will drop dead soon. Climbing or swinging through the branches became harder and harder, until walking seemed far more agreeable.

We're silent as we move, and I can tell part of it is because Luna is upset with me for not wanting to return to the Cornucopia to raid. Sure, they have water, but it's likely to be in the middle of the golden horn where we won't be able to reach without being seen. It's far better to stay on the move. There has to be a water source somewhere in the arena.

Suddenly, I hear something unexpected; something familiar. I stop midtrack, and Luna walks headlong into me. "What is it?" she asks anxiously. "Should we climb a tree?"  
"No," I say hushedly. I start pushing through the brush with increased fervor, determined to make it to the source of the sound. My grandmother's old rosemary earring jingles against my neck and ear as I jog the best I can through the trees.

"Thorn, what are you doing?" Luna cries behind me, but it's like a trance has come over me. I have to find the source of the singing, my grandmother's raspy, lilting voice that was so common throughout my childhood. Despite the softness, it permeates the forest like she's right next to me, sitting in her rocking chair underneath the persimmon tree in the Eleven heat, while the other occupants of the house chuck away the rotten fruits and pick some of the ripe ones for dinner.

"Thorn!"

"Do you hear it?" I ask, frenzied.

Luna catches up to me, panting. "I think I can! The water!"

I don't understand what she's talking about until we emerge from the trees into a sudden cliff, the rushing water at the bottom swirling like a death trap. The singing is louder now, sounding more and more enthralling. More beautiful than my grandmother could ever sing, that's for sure.

"The sea!" Luna exclaims. "Water! You did it, Thorn!"

 _Did what_? I think to myself, staring down at the water. Is my grandmother taunting me? She knew that I rejoiced at her death, after everything that she put me through, and now that I will likely die soon, she's come to rub it in my face. I start to lean forward, staring down as the water starts to morph into something strange, a vaguely humanoid figure with swirling hair and sharp teeth. They're entrancing beautiful.

"Thorn!"

Luna's arms grab me around my middle and pull me back onto the ground. The singing stops immediately, and I shake my head as luna coughs behind me, spitting out grass.

"What the hell are you doing?" she pants in scared confusion.

"Sorry," I grumble, standing and brushing off my pants. "I thought I… heard something."

"We need to figure out how to get some of that water," she says, green eyes bright with hope. "Once we have that, everything will fall into place."

I have my doubts, but I nod, casting a suspicious glance to the cliff behind me.

"We don't have any way to clean salt water," I point out.

"There might be a river that empties into the sea," Luna says confidently. "We should walk along the coast."

"There are probably thousands of tributes on the coast," I say irritably. "There's no doubt the Careers are too."

"Well, then what do you propose?" Luna snaps. "We just keep wandering until we die?"

When i don't respond, she continues, "We can rob anyone that we come across. Maybe then we'll be able to get some water."

"Well, if you think that's best," I say sarcastically. "Everyone knows that you're in charge here, being older, smarter, and wiser. Of course we should do what you say!"

She fumes at me before turning tail and walking along the cliff. I sigh and follow her, knees wobbling, wondering if this will really be our end.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

After cooking a lunch out of one of the lizards that are so common in the forest, I sit and eat the greasy meat under the shade of the mountain. There are so many animals around that there has to be a water source somewhere. The Gamemakers wouldn't place us in an arena without any water at all, especially not in such a lush arena as this.

I wipe the grease and grizzle from my lips. The meat leaves my mouth dry. The bananas have been some help in keeping me hydrated, as well as the various animals and plants that I've found to eat, but without any actual water, I know I won't last much longer.

I look up to the peak of the mountain, shrouded in clouds. Some unnatural lightning crackles at the highest point. I gulp nervously, wondering if I should forget my plan and stay here in the forest. I'm not afraid of a storm, but I am afraid of the Gamemakers tricking me to walk into a trap.

But the knowledge of bears, Careers, and maybe other menaces hiding among the trees is enough to spur me forward. And the possibility of a safe place from other tributes. The mountain is quite short, the could obviously designed to make it appear taller. I pack up all of my things and let out a breath, brushing my bright red hair out of my face. It's time to start climbing.

But then before I can move a muscle, a small tinkling sound reaches my ears. I turn around in surprise, pleased to see a silver parachute descending gently through the air. It lands on the grass beside me and I open it with a smile. A small bottle of water is inside, only enough to last me a few days, but it's a life saving gift. I take a few grateful gulps and leave the rest for when I really need it. I glance up at the sky, wondering from which angle my mentor is watching me.

I grasp my staff firmly in hand, starting the trek up the mountain. It will be a long few hours.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

Flux and I stand awkwardly to the side while Raven coughs up a storm behind us, the sound making me wince. Whatever sickness that had afflicted him during the first few days of training has returned, though not in full force. But the coughing and the weak wheezing breath that leaves him as he catches up to us is enough to cause worry.

"We can slow down if we need to," I say nervously.

"Don't be ridiculous," Raven says with a small grin. "I'll be fine. Let's keep moving."

Flux moves forward without a word, but I know she must be worried as well, just inept at showing it. Usually I'm not the best at showing it either, but I can't stop thinking about what will happen if Raven dies. He's the muscle of the group, and without him Flux and I wouldn't stand a chance against a gaggle of Careers.

Raven coughs again and I wonder for a moment if he would stand a chance either in this state.

"We need water," Flux says, and I feel an inexplicable rise of irritation. The amount of water that's surrounding us, clear, pristine waves lapping at our feet, makes the situation nothing less than infuriating. But without a way to purify the seawater, we're left to eating fish and mussels and hoping that the moisture of the meat will be enough to satisfy us. I can tell already that it isn't.

"Tell me something I don't know," Raven says, beating me to it.

"I think we should try and find someone else," I say slowly, trying not to seem pushy. "And maybe steal their supplies. Someone has to have water."

"If they have water, they got it from somewhere in the arena," Flux says dismissively.

"Yeah, the Cornucopia!" I say impatiently. "We've been looking for days!"

"There might be a stream that empties into the sea" Flux shrugs. "We'll find something eventually. They wouldn't put us in here with no way of getting water."

I growl under my breath. Curse Flux and her worry-free life. How does she stay so calm and uncaring when our bodies are slowly breaking down without water to drink?

"Flux is right," Raven grunts. "It would be too dangerous to go looking for people to raid. And besides, we don't know if there's anyone around us."

I scoff and turn away.

"Don't put on that bitch face with me," Raven says with a chuckle, not unkind. "I remember when you begged me not to take down those Careers. _Oh, please, Raven, I don't want you to die!_ "

"Shut up!' I mumble, bumping my shoulder into his. He laughs lightly and for a moment I feel at home, almost safe here with my two companions. Safer than I ever felt at the Red, taking client after client into my bed. Maybe it would be okay to let down my mask every once in a while. It's not like Raven or Flux will hurt me… unless we end up as the final contestants.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

I'm pretty sure my oranges are the only thing keeping me going at this point, and I only have one left. I ate one for breakfast this morning, the nutrients and moisture giving me the strength to continue on, but my stomach is growling again after midday. I grumble to myself as I contemplate eating the final fruit, wondering if I have enough sponsor interest to receive any more food and water.

I finally sigh and sit in the green grass, resigning myself to apply more cream to the wound on my side. It's healed incredibly quickly. Capitol medicine really is no joke. Whenever I think of all the people in Nine who die of easily treatable illness and injury, I have to clench my teeth and reign in my anger. After I win the Games, I'll use my wealth to help people around the district.

I peel my orange and savor each bite, despite the flesh being hot and mushy. Oranges are a delicacy in Nine, and I can't remember the last time I had one back home. I suppose this one might be my last… or the first of many expensive foods I will eat in my life time.

The air around me is hot but dry, bees buzzing in my face and locusts chirping incessantly. The grass is now tall enough I can barely see ahead of me, which is relieving. If I fall into a trap, at least I won't see it coming.

A large bee lands on a wildflower beside me, his plump yellow behind sticking out of the flower. I wonder, not for the first time, if the brightly-colored, plentiful flowers are edible to humans as well as insects. I learned various edible plant species in training, but all of these look foreign, almost fantastical in their shapes and colors. They almost look as tasty as a fruit, but I resist the urge to eat one, and instead stand on shaky legs to move forward. My injury pulls slightly with each step, but it's bearable.

Then suddenly I hear something strange, like the loud buzzing of a bee combined with the grunting of an animal. I stop in my tracks, concerned about wild predators or mutts, but the creature that emerges from the grass to my right is nothing but a gentle heifer, her eyes wide and black, spotted tan and white. She's quite large, but doesn't seem threatening, instead lowing softly at me, eyes blinking.

Then she jolts into motion again, lurching forward, and I glimpse the source of the buzzing noise. It's a large horsefly, circling the cow's derriere and biting it with every dive downward, urging her forward. She continues onward until she disappears into the grass again.

A strange encounter, but this arena seems to be full of strange things.

Then I hear another noise, this one obviously a voice.

"Woah, girl," the voice says. "Aren't you a pretty heifer?"

My heart pounds quickly in my chest as I contemplate what to do. If I run away, the other tribute will surely hear me, and will easily be able to track me through the squashed down grass. It would be best to stay here. I crouch onto the ground and watch keenly for any signs of movement. I wish I had a weapon to defend myself.

The person bursts through the grass with a disgruntled sigh, and stops abruptly. His green eyes widen in surprise, messy blonde hair dripping with sweat. He's tall, and more muscular than I. I recognize him as the guy from Ten who allied with the Careers. It won't be long before the rest come to his aid.

The fool doesn't even have his weapon drawn. I snarl and pounce forward before his allies know he's in trouble.

"Wait!" he shouts as I tackle him to the ground. The cow grunts in displeasure somewhere amidst the grass, her trail visible as she trots away.

"Keep your mouth shut," I hiss. "What weapons do you have?"

"Just a sword!" he chokes out. I reach for it at his belt and press it to his throat, but then suddenly he shoves me away with unexpected strength, clambering over me.

"Stop!' he says desperately. "I don't want to hurt you!"

I don't respond to the blatant lie, struggling to free my hand with the sword, which is pinned to the ground by his foot.

"I abandoned the Careers!" he says. "I'm not a threat to you. I don't want to kill any innocents."

I loosen up a little, glaring up at him suspiciously. His foot nudges my wound and I cry out in pain, trying to shove him off. He lets up without a fight, glancing down to my injured side which I grab with one hand, my other pointing his sword in his direction.

"You're hurt," he says plainly. "I have medicine."

"So do I," I say through gritted teeth.

We sit in silence on the prairie floor for a minute before he slowly stands and grabs his fallen backpack.

"I have food and water as well," he says. "And I'm willing to share it. I don't mean you any harm."

My mouth suddenly feels dry at the thought of water. If this guy really is a Career, he would have killed me already, wouldn't he? Maybe he really is an outer district tribute who regretted his decision to join the pack of murderous Capitol dogs.

"Fine," I pant out, lowering the sword.

He rummages through his pack with a bright smile before offering me a water bottle. "My name's Jeremy, and you're Alder, right?"

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

The sun is starting to age into the late afternoon, and yet we still haven't made any progress against the dragon. After I discovered that the sleeping beast was guarding something that we desperately needed- water- we knew we couldn't' move on until we got our fill. What if this is the only water source in the arena? It's oddly golden, shimmery surface seems to mock me as I look down at it from a nearby hill. Volt sits with me in the grass, watching as Logan creeps up to the dragon for what seems like the thousandth time, sword in hand and footsteps light. Yet as soon as he steps within a few feet of the water, the dragon snores and huffs out a large puff of steam from its nostrils, causing Logan to jump back.

The slumbering beast has been sleeping all day, but who knows what would happen if it opened its gigantic eyes. Can it breathe fire like in the popular stories? Or would it not waste any fancy tricks and instead eat us whole? I don't think Logan's sword is enough to slay such a creature.

"If only it would wake," Volt lamented in his usual fanciful speech. "Maybe go off hunting or something."

The creature does his massive wings, scaled and heaving with each slow breath, but we never say any flying dragons in the sky before arriving here to this lair. It doesn't seem to do anything but sleep.

I grip my knife in my hand. I'm a better stealth artist than Logan or Volt, but even my own attempts to get close to the water alerted the beast. I tried to convince them to let me rush in and fill oru water bottle and then flee as fast as I could, but they wouldn't hear of it, especially Logan.

"We don't want to see what that thing can do if we make it angry," he said darkly.

But I've had just about enough of these failures. We need water, and this is the only way to get it, unless we head back to the Cornucopia so Volt and raid the Careers again. That is, if he gets lucky again and makes it out alive.

Logan returns with his head downcast, sighing as he plops back onto the ground, swinging around our empty canteen hopelessly.

"Let me try again," I say.

Logan wordlessly holds out the sword, but I don't take it. I grab the canteen and march down the hill resolutely, feeling my allies' eyes on my back. Once I complete my task. I'll need to run in the opposite direction of my allies- straight into the forest. If the beast really can breathe fire, then maybe it will start a forest fire that will flush out any other tributes, or even burn them to death.

I tiptoe in a large circle around the sleeping dragon, until I'm directly behind it. It's tail is wrapped around the water, but leaves a small gap which we've been trying to enter. I take a deep breath, and break out into a sprint toward the golden water.

As I pass the dragon's tail- farther than we've gotten before- I hear a strange sound, like a rumbling in the ground. I keep my eyes on the water, but then something blocks my way, like it's sprung out of the ground itself. My heart jumps into my throat. It's a person, or rather some kind of person-like creature. It stands on two legs, looking like it's made of stone, all gray and holding a matching stone sword.

I barely have time to dodge the swing of the weapon, rolling back and away. I realize there are other soldiers in the field as well, all charging toward me with weapons raised.

I sprint away as quickly as I had come, until I turn and watch the soldiers get sucked back into the dirt, the grass quickly growing back whence they had sprung.

I'm breathing hard as I turn to the dragon's head, startled to see that it is finally awake, watching me curiously. It doesn't look angry or threatening, rather inquisitive about what small creature might disturb its slumber. Then it yawns, revealing a toothless maw, and sets its head back onto the ground with a grunt, eyes sliding closed.

I walk back up to Logan and Volt, who are both tense with their mouths still wide open.

"At least I tried something," I say with a shrug, trying to forget how close to death I had come.

"I think we should turn back," Logan says in a strangled voice.

"I agree," I say, and Volt nods with a smile.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

I wake in the middle of the night to someone shaking my shoulder, saying my name.

"What?" I ask groggily, almost forgetting where I am. Is Reggie waking me up for school? I'll just skip today and head to the Academy instead.

"It's time to hunt," Cyprian says simply, and I feel adrenaline instantly flood my veins. A grin appears on my face as I sit up, rubbing my eyes.

He and I join Leto and Passion outside the golden horn and we all gather our supplies for the trip. We won't be leaving anyone behind to guard the Cornucopia this time, but I suppose it won't matter. Killing Jeremy will be worth a few weapons and apples.

All of us are bright and ready to take on the night, weapons glimmering silver in the moonlight. Passion was the one who suggested we rest before heading out for our hunt… or rather demanded it. I had protested at first, but after getting the first hours of shut-eye that I've had in days, I'm glad she made us take a moment away from killing.

The night insects are chirping, and the sky is clear of any new faces when the Capitol theme plays. Hopefully we'll be able to change that for tomorrow night.

No one has spoken, until Leto quietly asks, "Is everyone ready?" to which we all assent with a stern nod of the head. Even Passion is quiet, staring up at the sky with wistful eyes.

We head off in the direction that Cyprian and Leto think Jeremy fled to. The prairie littered with wildflowers is unexplored by us yet, and with every step, I feel more excitement mixed with trepidation pump into my veins. Faroud is gone, and I'm Four's only shot at a victor. The thought makes me want to hurt whoever I can get my hands on, even myself. Back home, my parents would be cowering in their bedroom if they saw me walk into the house in this state, with that "wild" look in my eyes.

This was the reason my parents took me to training in the first place. It's how I got here, and it's how I'm going to win. I deserve it more than Faroud anyway.

 _Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M_

We decided to walk on through the night, not seeing the point in stopping without any water to show for our efforts. It feels like we're racing the clock, even with our stomachs full of fish and the knowledge that the meat has water and moisture. The lack of water weighs on us, only intensified by the sounds of the ocean right beside us.

The shore is starting to rise again, so that the fall down to the water is sharp and steep, but not far enough that one would die instantly. One would suffer instead, likely with a broken leg or arm, I think grimly.

The urge to cough suddenly overcomes me, and I double over for a few moments until the fit subsides. Flux waits for me patiently, and I watch as I straighten up again as Thimble easily navigates the precarious rocks at the edge of the cliff, jumping from one to the other with the moonlight as his only light source.

"He's should be a gymnast," Flux says, clearly impressed. I only know of one gymnast, the victor of the 59th Hunger Games from District Nine, who impressed the nation with her balance and physical strength during the Games, and took up something called gymnastics afterward as her talent. I remember her swinging around poles and balancing on beams, and imagine Thimble in her place. I think he would be good at it as well."

"If he's not careful, he'll break a rib falling off those rocks," I grumblr, wiping spittle from my mouth and continuing forward.

Flux snorts. Thimble doesn't seem t o care much about his safety, happily bounding from one boulder to the next with incredible agility.

We continue on for another hour or so, the shoreline curving gradually outward. It doesn't seem like we're headed toward a river at all, instead going farther into the sea on some kind of small peninsula. I squint in the distance and I think I can see where the peninsula reigns itself back in and connects to the mainland again, but I don't mention it. Thimble is having too much fun, and maybe there will be something noteworthy along here anyway.

Thimble sings softly, just quiet enough and too far away to make out the words, but the melody is soothing and he has a nice voice. In the distance, the island is still visible even in the darkness, as if lit by torches or campfires. The closer we get to it, the more I want to avoid it. It can bring nothing but trouble, I'm sure. A Gamemaker's trap.

"Do you hear that?" Thimble asks suddenly, stopping and listening intently.

"The water?" Flux asks.

"It's getting louder," Thimble says. "Like it's moving faster."

"I think I can hear it too," I say with a frown.

"A river?" Thimble asks in excitement, and I can see his eyes alight even in the darkness.

"Maybe," Flux says, suddenly intrigued. "They might have hidden it in the rocks where it's hard to get to."

"Not too hard for me," Thimble grins. He moves away with a flash, toward the sound of the water. Flux and I follow along the line of rocks eagerly, the prospect of fresh water making my throat feel even more parched.

Thimble disappears into the darkness, just far enough away to be invisible.

"Come right back once you've found it!" I order, hoping he can hear me.

"Of course!" he replies, and I hear the sound of his feet on rock.

The suddenly he screams, and his feet stop.

"Thimble!" I yell, trying to hop onto the rocks to go after him, but my body is too weak. Flux grabs my collar and pulls me back, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Thimble, are you okay?" she asks cautiously.

"I-I'm stuck!" he cries out. "No, no, no! Oh, god, what is that?"

The roar of an enraged creature fills the air. Flux jumps onto the rocks, her hatchet in hand. "Where are you?" she asks.

"Help!" Thimble shouts. "I'm stuck!"

Now Flux disappears into the darkness. I grind my teeth. If I lose both allies in one day, what will I do then?

Flux returns a few minutes later, sighing. "He's stuck on a ledge. It's too far down to get to him, and he can't climb back up. There's some kind of mutt that won't let him up.

"Tell him to drop into the water!" I exclaim. The solution is simple.

But Flux shakes her head. "There's a whirlpool underneath him. That's what we must have heard."

So there's no fresh water. No Thimble, and no way to get him back.

* * *

 **I had tons of fun writing this chapter with all of its mutts, and I hope you enjoyed it as well.**

 **No deaths this time, and I hope you're not too bored, dear Capitol citizens ;).**

 **Let me know what you thought, and any predictions you might have. Until next time~**


	29. Day Four: Four-Fanged Offense

**Hey everyone! I hope you've all had a good week. If you haven't checked out the SYOT Awards, I'm happy to announce that someone also nominated Passion for best female tribute! If you're interested in voting, you should check it out! I'm sure lots of you read many other SYOT fics, and might want to vote for your favorite stories/authors/tributes/etc.** topic/198935/178581507/2/SYOT-Awards-2019

 **Thanks for reading!**

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

Once day finally breaks, and Raven stirs beside me, shaking off the dredges of sleep, I pick up my hatchet and silently jump on top of the rocks lining the coastline's cliff. The drop looks even farther in daylight, the whirlpool at the bottom even more treacherous. It hasn't let up at all, the water still swirling with the _whooshing_ sound of a tropical storm.

I peer over the edge and let out a breath. Thimble is still there, trembling with cold and fear on his little rock ledge. He hasn't gotten desperate enough to jump into the water and risk getting sucked into the whirlpool, but neither has he gathered enough courage to try and climb up the side of the cliff.

"Thimble!" I call down. He looks up at me, his hair wet from the occasional splashes of water from the churning sea below.

"Flux!" he calls back in relief.

There's a long silence, both of us staring at each other, neither knowing what to say or how to proceed. I had hoped that in the light of day, the solution to the predicament would be obvious, or at least easier to see.

"Have you tried climbing up?" I finally ask.

"I can't," he says in a small voice. "Watch."

He picks up a tiny pebble from his ledge, eyes locked on some point in the cliff-face, and gently tosses up the pebble. The head of some kind of lizard creature suddenly appears from the cliffside, jaws snapping with a definitive snarl around the pebble and pulling it back into its lair.

"There's no way for me to get out!" Thimble yells, his voice trembling.

"It will be okay," I say, not sure if I believe my own words or not. "There's no use in worrying about it. Just stay calm and Raven and I will help you. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," he says, sounding almost ashamed. I drop down a half of a fish that Raven had caught yesterday, but the head of the creature in the cliff pops out again, catching the meat in its jaws. Then a second head appears and snaps at the first one's jaws, and they both retreat into the rock.

I sigh. "Well figure out how to get you some food, I promise!"

Thimble doesn't say anything, instead looking down at the whirlpool. Maybe he's contemplating a maritime escape after all. I don't take the time to ask, instead returning to Raven to tell him the news.

"We can't stay here for too long," he says grimly. "The Careers aren't the only tributes we need to worry about, and they could be walking along the shore like us."

"We can't leave him here," I state the obvious. "Maybe the whirlpool will die down after a while." Even as I speak, I doubt my words. It certainly doesn't seem like a natural whirlpool, and neither does the placement of it right beneath the lair of the mutt.

"We might as well do some more fishing," I say, eyes sliding to our fishing net on the dusty ground. "And see what happens."

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

The butt of my whip jams into my side with every step I take along the field, the belts that are fashioned to our outfits not designed to carry such strange weapons as my own. In the dawning light I can see that the grass of the prairie has truly been getting taller as we continued on, and that it wasn't just a figment of our imagination. The colorful flowers are becoming more numerous too, something that Marlowe has commented on many times, picking a few and sticking them in her golden hair. I can't tell if its an act for the Capitol or if she's really that much of an airhead, but it's not my judgement to make, I suppose.

"Be careful for holes in the ground," Cyprian says in his deep voice. We can't see much of the ground due to the tall grass, making this a perfect spot for Gamemaker or other tributes' traps. I nod to him in agreement and gratitude. I had a feeling when the Games began that Cyprian and I would be the last Career district pair left standing, and I wasn't wrong. I know that the two of us are the most competent, especially since Passion has been left without her protector and Marlowe seems more interested in killing than actually winning.

"These stupid bees are so annoying!" Passion exclaims, swiping one away from her face. "Are you guys even sure the traitor went this way?"

"He didn't go into the forest or away to the coast," I say confidently.

"What about those hills? They're the obvious choice because you can hide-"

"He didn't go there either," Cyprian says in an assured voice.

"Am I supposed to just take your word for it?"

"Cyprian's word is good," I say, sensing a conflict. We don't need to start fighting amongst ourselves. "This is the way Jeremy went."

Cyprian meets my eyes and nods in return, just like I did earlier. I've trained with Cyprian since I was ten years old. We're both here to bring glory to District Two, and if we can't trust each other then who can we trust?

"I think I found something!" Marlowe shouts up ahead, and I roll my eyes in annoyance at her loud tone, sure to scare away any tributes. She hasn't been walking with us, but rather ahead of us like a bloodhound sniffing out an escaped convict.

"Is it a pair of reins?" Passion mutters. "Cause I think you might need some." I'm glad I'm not the only one to notice Marlowe's strange behavior. The three of us start jogging to meet her anyway, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see what she found.

"A trail!" Marlowe supplies happily. The path of flattened grass sure seems like a trail, and a very human-sized one. The person didn't seem to be cutting down the grass or smoothing it on purpose, but just trying to step through it, possibly trying to cover their tracks by pushing some of it back up.

"It seems we've caught a scent of someone," I say, grinning.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

The night on the mountainside was cold and difficult. It seems the air grows chillier the farther up I go, and the animals and plants less numerous. Perhaps I made a mistake in deciding to climb up, but at least I can be sure that not many tributes will dare to follow me. I'll be as safe as a panther hidden in a tall tree, hoarding the meat I captured while on the ground.

I eat my last banana and drink some water while sitting on the chilly rock surface, staring up at the clouds that await me. I contemplate cooking myself some meat, but I should save it for later. I gather up my things in my backpack and grab my walking stick, starting up the mountain again. I have much more energy after drinking some water, and I'm grateful to whichever Capitol aristocrat thought me interesting enough to give money to. I wouldn't like to die yet.

The mountain is not necessarily difficult to climb. The surface is angled, with rocks jutting out, but not too steep to walk. At some point I have to put away my staff due to the rocky ground, but even if I fall, I would simply tumble down rather than dropping straight down. An hour or so after I started climbing again, I'm almost at the top. The clouds appear to be getting closer and closer, and I start to wonder if this is all a trap, and if the clouds are actually a poisonous fog or some other harmful mist.

But when I reach a fluffy cloud, they part around me and dissipate into water. I keep climbing, only able to see the ground, but nothing ahead of me. The temporary blindness makes me anxious, but when I emerge on the other side, my mouth drops open.

It seems I've found a hidden paradise within the arena. Built on the peak of the mountain is what looks like an elaborate chamber, without a ceiling, that opens to the blue and sunny sky. The walls are made of marble and inlaid with gold, with intricate columns on either side. Streams of water flow through the floors, lush patches of grass with trees that are laden with fruit line the columns, and there is even a pool in which to swim.

I laugh to myself as I let my backpack drop to the marble floor and rush to a plum tree, picking one of the ripe fruits and savoring in the taste. It seems I won't have to worry about food and water any longer. I've gotten what I wanted when I volunteered for the Hunger Games- a pleasant place to spend my final days, and maybe, just maybe, survive to the end.

 _Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D10M_

The boy from Nine, Alder, is pleasant enough company. Not exactly talkative, but he doesn't seem like a threat, especially with his injury. Though it seems to be mostly healed, he has trouble turning to the left, or else he grabs his waist in pain. Last night I had asked him who gave it to him, and he had told me it was the reddish-haired boy from Two. I had sighed and settled further into my sleeping bag, wondering if Cyprian ever felt as trapped in his life as I once did, chasing after a reward that comes with killing other people. Or if he simply feels nothing, or even pleasure at the thought of killing, deep under his mysterious exterior.

Alder hadn't tried to harm me in the night, as he knew he wouldn't. He seems surprised that I didn't try to kill him, though. He eyes me suspiciously as I take out some breakfast of dried apricots and nuts.

"Would you like some?" I ask.

He raises an eyebrow, dark eyes inquisitive. He seems ready to reject me, but he must not have any of his own food left, because he takes some of mine with apprehension. "Does this mean I owe you?" he asks, voice deep.

"Of course not," I say, munching on some walnuts. "We'll help each other out."

Alder looks increasingly concerned. "Help each other? I don't know what you think this is, but we're in a competition. A deadly one."

"Yes," I say cheerfully. "And it's nice to have company that aren't murderers."

Just as the words leave my mouth, I hear a strange tinkling sound above us. We both look up to the silver parachute, which slowly descends into my lap with a final clink. I quickly open it, eager to see what's inside now that the Capitol knows I'm on my own, and a formidable opponent to the Careers. But what the container reveals to me is something I never could have imagined.

"What is it?" Alder asks me, trying to peer inside.

I grab the knife and let the container fall to the ground. A note is attached to its hilt; the hilt that is inscribed with the familiar initials: _MC._ MaryAnn Carroway. My sister, who died after volunteering. This was her prized knife that father gifted to her on her ninth birthday, when she first started training at the Academy. She took it everywhere with her for luck, but rarely actually used it. While she was in the Games and after her death, it sat on our mantle in the dining room, a constant reminder of the family member that would never return. With shaky hands, I reach for the note.

 _I know you probably can't forgive the both of us, but we are so, so sorry. We love you, no matter what. Good luck! Win for her._

I can hardly believe it. My parents really sent me something, after I ran away from One and didn't speak to them for years. And they didn't just send me anything, but my sister's prized knife. With a message of support.

"A knife?" Alder asks skeptically. "Don't you already have a sword?"

I don't answer, still taking my time to examine the blade. It's sharp, and could certainly be used in combat, but I slip it into my belt with reverence. I reach up to my token, the only thing I took with me from One when I ran away. The necklace contains a picture of MaryAnn and I together before she died. I wish I could look at it, but I don't want Alder asking questions, or more importantly the camera picking up an image of me with a former tribute from a different district.

My parents must have paid a lot, even calling in favors, to convince my mentors to send me this knife. Are they glad I deserted the Careers, or worried about my chances? Or do they not are about me at all, and are just trying to get into my good graces if I win? I can't let myself simply believe that we will be a big happy family if that happens. I can't get my hopes up only to have them be crushed.

Alder thankfully seems to realize I don't want to talk about the knife, and doesn't seem to care that much in the first place. We pack up our little camp together, and start our journey again. We walk in comfortable silence, and Alder seems to have accepted that our teamwork will help us in the end.

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

After camping another night near the dragon and its lair, we're now headed back to the Cornucopia for another raid. Despite our relative success thus far, I can't help but feel like we're running in circles. How will we be able to rival the Careers as the tributes dwindle off, if we can't even find water for ourselves? Tributes who raid the Cornucopia are always caught eventually, since they become reliant on supplies that aren't theirs. I wanted to make an alliance that could protect itself, and even stave off the Careers for the first part of the Games. But instead half of us died in the bloodbath, and our chances of independent survival are getting dimmer and dimmer everyday.

Despite all this, neither Volt nor Pagani seem worried. Volt is cheerful as ever, even whistling softly as we walk among the rolling hills, but not without keeping a keen eye on our surroundings for any enemies. Pagani is just as self-assured, her face blank as usual but her body loose as she walks. I can only hope that their confidence will aid us in survival, not make them reckless.

I can't imagine giving up on something back in Six like we did here with the dragon. The gang always called me too strong-headed, but now I'm wondering if I lost my spark.

"Pagani and I should be the ones to rob the Cornucopia this time," I say definitively in my leader voice. Pagani nods, but Volt has a twisted grimace on his face.

"I'm perfectly capable of stealing," he says.

"You went last time," I reason. "We should split the risk,"

Volt perhaps feels a little useless without being our thief, but a real gang of friends splits the duties amongst themselves equally. Volt might not be a strong fighter, but he's smart and I don't want to lose him because he got used to raiding, and got reckless.

"How many Careers were there when you went before?" Pagani asks, the look in her eyes maybe a little too eager.

"Three, I think," Volt says. "It might have been just two. It was dark."

"We should only take things that are unguarded," I remind her. "We aren't looking for a fight."  
"Well, maybe we should," is all Pagani says.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

This is my first time seeing the ocean. Even though I'm sure the Gamemakers have messed with it, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm glad I got to see it before I died, because I'm surely going to die. And Thorn probably will too, if his quiet rambling is any indication. I'm not sure what time of day it is, or how long we've been walking. Did we just discover the water this morning? Oh no, that was yesterday. We spent a night in the trees beside the coast, then set out to walk along it, hoping to find fresh water.

Still no luck.

The sun is hot above us, and only the water provides any relief. It takes all my willpower not to allow some of the salty liquid into my mouth, no matter how much I want to. Every few moments, I have to remind myself that the water isn't safe to drink. Thorn speared a fish earlier, and we ate it raw like a pair of animals, unspeaking.

We stopped walking after that, and I now sit in the shallow water, feeling the tide gently drag me forward and backward, my arms and legs caressing the sand. Thorn is sitting on the beach, writing and drawing in the sand with his fingers. He doesn't seem too concerned, but that might be the dehydration. I, however, don't feel helpless like perhaps he does. I know we could turn around this situation if we would raid the Cornucopia. The Careers can't bring all of their water with them, and there is bound to be bottles of it, along with iodine and ways to boil the salt water, making it safe to drink. The only reason we haven't done it is because Thorn is being an idiot.

Suddenly feeling the urgency of the situation, I let the tide push me up to Thorn on the sand. He looks much different than he did in our interviews. His skin is sun-burned, and I imagine mine is as well. His hair sticks out in every direction, eyes focused on his writing as he mutters to himself.

"Thorn!" I say loudly to get his attention.

He turns to me, startled, like he forgot I was there. "Oh, hey. Find some cool seashells or something?"

"No, I didn't find any _seashells_ ," I say, suddenly fuming. "We need to go to the Cornucopia or we'll _die._ "

"Well, death is inevitable," Thorn sighs, looking up at the sky. "I don't know if you've figured that out yet. Whether it's here, or somewhere else, years from now… it will happen."

"Well, I don't want to die now!" I yell, not caring who might hear me. Perhaps we're already dead, and we're fighting about nothing. It seems like it, in a way. The sun is too bright and the sea is too blue, the sand too perfect. Maybe we're already in the afterlife.

Thorn groans, standing up. I slowly follow, stumbling slightly.

"It seems no one thinks we're worthy of some lousy water," he says, squinting at the sky again.

"It's because they know we could steal it!" I shout. "Come on, Thorn, you know I'm right!"

He peers into my eyes, and I see for a moment his real hesitation. It's not that he's stupid, or even lazy, but just that he's afraid.

"It's like you said," I say, softer now. "We'll die no matter what. If we die trying to get water, then at least we'll have gone down fighting. Not just sitting here on a beach waiting for death."

He takes a long look at me, then slowly nods. "You're right." The words are drawn out of him painfully, like he's admitting something to himself, not just to me. He picks up his stick spear, and I grab my own. We silently start walking, with nothing else to say and no energy to say it. I glance down at the sand, and a picture of an old woman in a rocking chair is meticulously drawn. The water washes it away just a moment later.

 _Alder Kasha (15)- D9M_

I lightly apply medicine to my wound while Jeremy waits for me just a few paces ahead. It's nice to have company, though I would never admit it. He seems like a good guy; not worried about stupid things. He hasn't mentioned school or even money at all, just his family. We're both just trying to keep our families alive.

"I hope we haven't been walking in circles," Jeremy comments as I catch up to him. "All of this looks alike."

"We might be," I grunt. Not that it matters. As long as we keep moving, then we'll be fine.

Besides, it seems the flowers of the meadow are becoming larger and larger the farther we walk, their bright color and sweet scent mocking our situation. We're lucky that Jeremy has enough food and water to last us several days, since there aren't any sources except for locusts and the occasional small animal. Jeremy filled up my empty canteen with some water, which I take a sip out of now, trying to ignore my parched throat. We need to conserve what we have.

Jeremy has been quieter since receiving his gift, but that's okay with me. I'm just glad that we have two weapons, one for each of us if things get rough. Even if Jeremy has both of them on his belt, and I have nothing but a spool of twine.

"Do you hear that?" Jeremy asks suddenly, stopping in his tracks. The look in his eyes makes me stop as well, scanning the horizon.

"Another mutt?" I ask. The cow might not have been dangerous, but there's no telling what else could be waiting for us. And Jeremy told me about his encounter with the giant spiders before he met me.

Jeremy abruptly drops to the ground, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me with him. I hold my breath as he carefully parts the green grass, the bright flowers, and the occasional hopping bug with his hands. I peer through the stems of the plants to see my worst nightmare: the Careers, quietly stalking through the grass, just on the horizon. It seems they haven't seen us yet, due to Jeremy's hearing.

"We need to move," I hiss through my teeth. They're headed straight for us, perhaps even following our trail.

"They'll see," is Jeremy's grunted response. He's tense as well, his hand on his sword. He slowly slides his gifted knife out of his belt and hands it to me with so much as a glance. I take it and look down at the hilt, where the letters _MC_ are carved. It's a fancy knife, not one that his mentors would have given him on their own.

I glance up at Jeremy's taut face. Perhaps he's more complicated than I thought.

"I'm fast," I tell him quietly. "I could go up to them and-"

"Shhh!"

The Careers are getting closer now, all of the four remaining members. They quietly pick through the grass, the boy with red hair getting closer and closer.

"Jeremy," he says in a deep voice. "We know you're here somewhere. We've been following you."

"Come out and fight us like a man!" the golden girl from Four yells.

I feel Jeremy tense beside me, and he pushes me behind him. "Run," he tells me under his breath.

I don't hesitate, standing and immediately sprinting in the opposite direction. I hear grunts of surprise and pain behind me, glancing behind to see that jeremy has jumped out to slice Cyprian's thigh open. Cyprian doesn't make a noise, instead, using his own sword to counterattack. Jeremy's sword blocks his with a loud clang. It's the only noise in the otherwise silent landscape, all quiet except the sounds of insects chirping.

Cyprian's allies are standing and watching as the battle continues, Cyprian easily pushing back jeremy with his blows.

"Go get that one," his district partners hisses to the spoiled girl from One. The dark-haired princess looks up at me with hatred in her eyes, though I haven't done anything to her.

I think about running, like Jeremy said, but as the battle between him and Cyprian, and now his partner Leto, rages on, their grunts and footfalls and clashing metal weapons the only sounds in the air, golden Marlowe watching on, and watch Passion unsheathe her throwing axe… I know it won't matter if I stay or run.

I grip my knife tightly, thrusting forward and catching Passion off-guard, as if she didn't expect me to have a weapon.

"If that's the way you want to play it, little parasite," she snarls, pulling out her mace instead. "Come here!"

I hear a scream of pain of Jeremy, but another screech of metal on metal that lets me know he hasn't gone down yet. I dodge Passion's mace, barely getting out of the way before it sticks into the grass instead, coming away with bits of green and dirt stuck into the spikes. She gives an animalistic growl as she advances, this time aiming for my outstretched arm, and this time, she doesn't miss. The heavy mace knocks into my hand holding the knife, and it drops to the ground, as do a few of my fingers.

I whimper in pain, realizing my end might truly be soon. I thought it would be different. Not so sudden, not so quiet, and not with an ally that tried to save me.

"Alder-!" I hear Jeremy's voice gurgle, and I watch from behind Passion as he tries to stumble toward me, bleeding from his arms and somewhere from his head. Cyprian shoves his sword into his belly before pulling it out, and Jeremy topples to the ground with a quiet groan.

"Finish off this one," Leto orders as Jeremy's cannon shot fills the air.

"Happily," Marlowe says with a grin, stalking toward me.

"He's mine!" Passion snaps, and her mace comes down onto my head.

I'm still conscious for a few moments, feeling the soft grass and hearing the pleasant sounds of the insects, before it all fades away.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

The berries that I found are not only good for eating, but also something that I'm possibly even more grateful for… art.

Or at the very least, camouflage. I didn't even realize how much I missed drawing swirls on my arms with my pen at my school desk, blocking out the world and focusing my on my project. A similar thing happens now, as I smear the berries over my arms, sleeves rolled up, and eventually even my face. I'm sure the berries are dark enough that I could pass as a part of the ground, hidden amongst the leaves if anyone came too close. If I kept quiet, no one would notice me.

I hear two cannon shots go off in the distance, surprising me slightly. I pause for a moment before tossing some more berries in my mouth. I'm simultaneously pleased and tired of the sweet taste. They keep me full, but I do wish for some variety. I set a trap this morning for an animal to eat, but I have to wait a few more hours before checking it, lest I scare away all of the prey.

I streak some berry up one arm, like dark purple warpaint. I grab some leaves and chew them up, then rub them onto the uncovered spots, creating a blue and green striped pattern on my arm. Faint, but still noticeable. It makes me smile. At least I am not completely bored here in the arena, all alone.

I should try and find water, but I loathe to leave my berry tree now that I've found it. What if there are no other consistent food sources aside from the occasional lizard? Of what if there is no water source? It's unlikely, but not impossible.

I grab my mirror beside me and look in my reflection, at the juice-covered face with eyes staring back at me. Without my hair, I look more like my grandfather, at least in the pictures of when he was younger. I remember he was the first person to comfort me when I was sent home from school as a child for not listening and doodling instead. I wonder if he's proud of me from beyond the grave.

A sudden rustling noise interrupts my thoughts. I feel my consciousness return to the earth, leaving dreamland and focusing on the edge of the trees, barely visible from my location. I can see humanoid figures there, walking into the forest. I quickly hide in the brush surrounding the tree. I wish I could climb it, but that would simply alert them to my presence.

The group is getting closer. There's three of them- the pair from Six and the guy from Five. "We'll be less visible if we approach from the trees," the guy from Five is saying. I remember his voice from training- confident, charismatic, suave. Easy to mimic. If they keep on their trajectory, they'll walk right past me. Which means they'll probably see the berries and stop to gather some, even make a camp here. I have to keep them away.

There's only one thing I can think of that would ward off a group of well-prepared tributes. I start to growl, quietly at first, but getting louder the closer they come. I've heard many wolves and other vicious animals other the years watching the Games, and I combine some of the sounds to make a terrifying snarl. I gradually raise my voice, and the guy from Five leading the others stops and pales.

"Do you hear that?" he asks fearfully.

"A dog?" the girl asks skeptically.

As if replying to her, I let out a mighty roar, then quickly make practiced sounds of footsteps on the forest floor. The guy from Five immediately runs out of the forest, followed by his allies. I let the footsteps noises quietly fall off, but I keep a low growl in my throat until they completely disappear.

I have another thing to thank my grandfather for- teaching me how to mimic.

I grab my supplies and quickly shimmy up the tree, feeling berries burst beneath my hands and feet. That was a close call, but at least I know that my mimicking is convincing.

The tributes don't return, probably taking a different route to wherever they're going. I eat some berries while I wait for time to pass, eventually coming down from my tree and practicing making fire with my mirror. A few leaves start to smoke after several tries, and I grin to myself in victory. It looks like I won't be eating any more raw meat.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

I'm hungry, thirsty, scared, and hot, but boredom is what gets to me the most here on my tiny ledge. Even Raven's company from above me, evidenced by the occasional cough or exchange, is not enough to keep my mind off my situation. It seems comical, which only makes me feel worse. My death will be a laughing moment for the Capitol, and then they'll forget me and move on like they have with all the others.

Flux tried passing me some more food, but to no avail. The creature that resides in the cave just above my ledge won't let anything pass, not even rocks, which it grabs and pulls back into its lair. I contemplate several ways of how I could kill it with my machete, which is the only thing I had with me when I fell, but if my attempt fails, then it will steal the weapon from me and I will be left defenseless. It seems like I've already been given a death sentence, and now all I can do is wait for it to finally come to pass.

I draw a circle in the dust on the ledge, flinching as the spray from the whirlpool below me gently hits my face. I'm up far enough that I'm not getting constantly wet, but the ocean is unforgiving. I wonder what will kill me first- hunger, hypothermia, or dehydration. If I was an affluent Capitol citizen watching me onscreen from their plush couch, I would bet on dehydration.

I clasp my token in my palm, the locket around my neck that Rita gave me before we parted. I open it slightly, revealing my parents' faces. I feel my face crumple at the sight, but I try not to cry. They would want me to keep fighting if they were still alive. That's what I always did- anything I had to to survive.

"Thimble!" I hear above me. I look up to see Flux and Raven's faces over me, in shadow due to the overhanging sun.

"Still here," I call back up.

"We've been thinking," Raven says, voice weak but still audible. "That you should try and climb down."

"To where?" I ask incredulously.

"Just to look around," Raven says. "There might be something to help you. Like another way up the cliff."

"There's nothing!" I say, distressed. "And what if I fall in!"

"So what if you fall in?" Flux asks with a shrug. "Then you swim to the beach."

"I can't swim," I admit, shouting it as if that would make it less embarrassing.

"Neither can I," Flux calls back, surprising me. "But it's your only shot, and if you die then you don't have to worry about it anymore."

I scoff, pulling my knees up to my chest and shivering at another spray of saltwater. She might be right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. "Fine!" I say, standing and looking down around the ledge for places I could grab. There aren't many other rocks that jut out of the cliff face, just smooth, hard rock. The sounds of the whirlpool below me are disconcerting, and I feel a little lightheaded from hunger and dehydration. I gently try to lower myself onto a rock jutting out of the surface of the cliff, but it breaks off and leaves me hanging for a split second before I pull myself back up.

"I can't do it!" I cry up to my allies. "There's no way!"

Flux disappears immediately, either upset at me or just in general, but Raven stays and reassures me. "Everything will be fine, Thimble. We'll figure out a way to get you back up. Just hang tight."

I shiver as I resign myself back to my fetal position on the rock.

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

Luna and I are practically delusion as we make our way to the Cornucopia. I start wondering if me hearing my grandmother's voice from the ocean water was really all just a hallucination, and I'm starting to go crazy. The thought fills me with intense dread that I didn't know I was capable of feeling. If I don't have my mind, then is that like being dead? I didn't think I would mind dying, but I never thought of it like this before.

Luna walks slowly beside me, both of us watching out for any threats, but I'm not sure we would be able to stop them if we encountered them anyway. I use my sharpened stick to walk, hoping that it will be enough to fend off anyone we come across. As we approach the Cornucopia, a mere hour or so after setting out from the beach, I see nothing but a faint golden glint in the distance. Luna walks more purposefully, but I make her stop for a moment while I check out the horizon. There doesn't seem to be anyone heading toward us, but maybe the Careers haven't noticed us yet.

"We need to be careful," I say weakly. She sighs, but stays put as I creep forward. I can see gray and black piles of supplies, but no glint of silver weapons. They're probably all inside the horn, safely stored where it is most dangerous to go. Luna quietly follows behind me until we're within hearing range of the Careers… but I don't hear a thing except the whistling wind.

"Let's hurry," Luna whispers to me, and I nod. We both quickly dive in. I open every backpack to look for water, but it all seems to have been taken away. I can tell Luna is having similar problems judging by her frustrated grunts.

"Stay out here," I tell her, heading cautiously to the mouth of the golden horn. I wonder for a split second if the Careers are waiting in hiding for us, but that would be unlikely. They have no reason to be afraid of the two of us, dehydrated and weak.

I finally see the pile of water bottles, all stacked neatly at the edge of the mouth. I gratefully grab one and open it, drinking as fast as I can. The water is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, despite the metallic, mineral taste and the heat. I grab another bottle for Luna, feeling my own drip down my face. I toss one on the ground beside her, and she realizes what it is with a joyful shout.

"Yes!" she exclaims, doing the same as me and pouring it down her throat. I grab as many bottles as I can, shoving them a backpack I found. I leave behind all the heavy, unnecessary supplies, but I do grab a throwing knife and a curved one for combat. I hand one to Luna and drink the rest of my water. It seems too good to be true, that the Careers would leave their supplies unprotected like this. Maybe they're also in a nasty situation right now, and needed everyone to help. Whatever the reason, it seems the Universe has decided to play a cruel joke on them instead of us. We won't be dying today.

"Thorn, look!"

I glance up from where I was rummaging through the supplies for some food, hoping to find something lightweight to take with us. There's movement on the edge of where the forest meets the rolling hills. "Let's go!" I hiss, grabbing Luna's arm and hoisting her up. We start running, and I can hear the shouts of the other tributes behind us.

"It's the pair from Eleven!" I hear a feminine voice say. "Hurry!"

"Hurry what?" a guy asks. "They're not Careers."

I glance back to see the pair from Six, the girl with dirty blonde hair eyeing us hungrily while her district partner pulls her away. "The Careers aren't here. Let's get what we came for."

The two of them enter into a heated hushed argument, and I turn back around to catch up to Luna. It seems we weren't the only ones who thought to raid the Cornucopia, and perhaps the Universe will end up playing a cruel trick on us after all. But if everything is random, then I guess some things will turn out okay for us.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

Logan and Pagani left twenty minutes ago, and I know my time is running short. If my plan is going to work, then I need to act fast, and find something that will set it into motion. The sun is setting, making it harder to see, but I know I saw something here the last time we wandered this way, but I couldn't retrieve it with Pagani and Logan with me. I just have to find it again…

There it is! I reach out to grab the plant, before thinking better of it and wrapping the end of my sleeve around my hand before touching it. The azalea flower is bright pink and beautiful, on a lone shrub at the edge of the woods. It might seem unremarkable to others, but I paid special attention to poisons in training, and I know it is anything but harmless.

I grab several flowers and carefully store them inside the warm hat we nabbed from the Cornucopia during the bloodbath. No one has worn it yet, and no one will be looking inside it. Neither Logan nor Pagani will know that the key to the end of the Careers is in my little backpack… and perhaps their own end, if they survive past the final eight.

I make my way back to the spot where my allies left me, by the tree I met Cyprian at before. Part of me wishes he would show up, but I can't even see a faint outline of anyone in the distance, probably due to the setting sun. Hopefully tomorrow night he will be able to meet me on a nightly patrol.

Pagani and Logan return not long after, huffing with adrenlaine and what looks like discontent. "What happened?" I ask smoothly.

"The Careers weren't there," Pagani says bitterly. "But there were two other tributes, and Logan wouldn't let us go after them! We could be two kills farther into the Hunger Games right now, but they got away!"  
I raise an eyebrow at Logan, and he stands tall, clearing his throat. "We don't want to cause trouble," he says. "That guy from Elelven probably learned how to fight in training, and they might have had other allies waiting for them in the treeswho could have ambushed us."

"We could have taken them," Pagani hisses, stalkign away into the darkening night.

I glance to Logan, who looks deflated. "I trust you," I announce. "But we also want to win, don't we?"

He hesitates, and I know why- he doesn't want to say it in front of the Capitol. He's soft, and afraid of killing someone that isn't a Career. He wants to stay pure and nice and honest. As if that's even possible in the Hunger Games.

The Panem anthem starts playing, and we both look up to the sky to see who had died during the day. For a moment, just as I was earlier when the cannons went off, I'm worried that I might see Cyprian's face and my plans will all be ruined, but I don't let anything show on my face. And I had nothing to worry about anyway. It's only the boy from Nine, who Cyprian wounded in the bloodbath. Maybe he finally died of his wounds. The other tribute is Jeremy, Cyprian's ally. Hopefully the alliance isn't starting to fall apart for whatever reason…

"A Career," Logan says grimly. "Good riddance."

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F_

After killing our adversarsies, the group morale has improved signifificantly. Even Cyprian lets out a rare smile as he watwches Marlowe twirl around her bladed baton, the _swooshing_ noise incredibly satisfying. She cuts through blades of grass and watches them fall to the ground with a smirk.

"We should go hunting for some others tonight," she says, but Leto shakes her head.

"We need to rest and then decide what to do in the morning."

Marlowe huffs. "You decided you were the one in charge? Faroud was right, you're too stiff."

The mention of Faroud makes my blood run cold for a moment. It's hard to believe he's dead, just like it's hard to believe that Callum is d… gone. I can't quite admit it to myself yet. Marlowe doesn't seem affected by her partner's death, but she's also deadly in her own right. I know I can win on my own. I just killed another tribute… but in a battle against one of my current allies? Would I really win without Callum's help?

"What's that?"

We all look to where Marlowe is pointing, somewhere in the distance. It's hard to see through the tall green grass, and even harder since we only have the moonlight to guide us. But I can still make out some kind of mass, moving slowly. I recall the bear that killed Faroud and I stop in my tracks, watching the others draw their weapons.

"Stay close," Cyprian orders, taking the lead on the attack. He creeps forward, but what emerges from the grass isn't a dangerous beast, but a large cow, brown and white with large black eyes surrounded by long eyelashes. She blinks at us and mooes softly.

Leto scoffs and puts her whip back on her belt. "Come on, let's move on."

"Can't we at least have some fun first?" Marlowe asks with a maniacal laugh, twirling her baton around again. She steps toward the heiffer, but I stop her with a foot in front of hers.

"Just leave it alone," I say, in a tone that leaves no room for debate.

Marlowe looks at me in disbelief. "Excuse me? I can't kill this one cow? Why not?"

"There's no reason to," I say hotly, feeling my temper rise. "Do you really want to cross me on this, fish bitch?"

She seems taken aback by the insult, eyes narrowing. But she puts her baton back on her belt, and we watch as the heifer moos quietly, slowly trotting away with some kind of fly stinging her back. It's a strange beast to have in the arena, but it doesn't need to die today. I ignore Marlowe as she huffs in annoyance to the others. I might not have been able to save Callum or even Faroud… and I might have killed some boy today, but at least I can save this cow.

 **The Fallen:**

 _16th) Jeremy Caulfield (16)- D6M- created by domgk115. Killed by Cyprian._ Killing Jeremy was not an easy decision. He's such an interesting character who truly wanted to help others, a real sweet person in the Careers alliance. But I knew that after he escaped the Careers, because of how angry and upset they were, they would stop at nothing to kill him. And I knew he wouldn't leave Alder to fend for himself, but instead fight to the death for his friend. I hope he finds peace with his sister in the afterlife, and that his parents have learned a lesson.

 _15th) Alder Kasha (15)- D9M- created by PaxZola. Killed by Passion._ Alder is another character whom I loved, which makes this even harder. He was a hardhead, but deep down all he cared about was his family. I'm glad he got to spend time with a true friend before he died, and that they fell together during the Games. Besides, I think Alder wouldn't be too upset considering his district partner Blossom is still alive, and if she wins, then his family would still receive the extra food of a winning district.

 **Kill Stats:**

 _ **Tied for Most Kills**_ _:_

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F-_ two kills: Sparrow and Alder

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M-_ two kills: Caiden and Jeremy

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M (dead)-_ two kills: Dylan and Rylex.

 _ **Tied for Second-Most Kills:**_

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F-_ one kill: Rai.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F-_ one kill: Terra.

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F-_ one kill: Callum.

 **I hope both the creators of Jeremy and Alder aren't upset with me! I have been in constant contact with them and I loved both of their tributes, so it pains me to kill them off… but that's the name of the game, I guess. I get really attached to the tributes, but we're reaching that point where I have to let go!**

 **Let me know your reactions, your predictions, your opinions, your reactions to the deaths!**

 **Special thanks to MaxMan667 for proof-reading this chapter!**


	30. The Season of Sadness: Back in Panem

**Hey again! The holidays sort of made it hard for me to write, but I know you guys probably don't want excuses and just want the chapter xD. This one is actually about the families and friends of the tributes. A few people were requesting it and I thought it would be a good idea. It was quite fun to write from some different perspectives, so I hope you like reading it as well.**

* * *

 _Bellona Presque (26)- Head Gamemaker_

It's my first night at my manor since these Hunger Games started. The spacious rooms are empty and smell like mold, and I ring the bell on the kitchen counter to wake my Avox. I wait impatiently for her to arrive, drumming my fingers on the marble counter and gazing around the room. I had always wanted to make this house my own, with my own decor and personal touch, but ever since moving in, I've been far too busy. These countertops are the same ones that were here when I moved in, as are the ugly tile walls and the disgusting pink wallpaper in the living room. I should make it a goal to truly renovate this place after the Games are over.

My Avox steps into the room, rubbing her eyes before quickly standing to attention.

"This room needs cleaning," I say sharply. "Just because I'm not here doesn't mean the house should be left to rot."

The Avox bows in apology and hurries away to the cleaning closet to retrieve her supplies. I hang my jacket on the coat hanger and retire to the living room, where I flick on the television. Footage from the arena is played on most channels some showing live feeds, others playing reruns of exciting moments, others making predictions and offering wagers to viewers, others playing interviews with the tributes, and even with me. I'm pleased to see my face on the screen, confident and cool as ever, my black hair glistening in the artificial light.

"What can we expect in the first Hunger Games after a twelve-year old victor?" Caesar asks me in an expectant voice.

"They will be no different, of course," I drawl. The dark green streaks in my hair highlight the aspects of green in my dress. "Except that some of the betting will be thrown off, I imagine. I think last year's Games were a reminder that anyone can win. Never discount anyone because of their age."

The double meaning of my words were apparent to the audience. I often was criticized last year when I was appointed, being the youngest female Gamemaker ever. Perhaps it's fitting that my first victor would also be an underdog.

However, I must say the sponsors and the Capitol have split opinions on these Games. Some are saying there haven't been enough deaths, others think the amount of tributes is exciting and will make for a longer Games. I can only hope that the remaining time in the arena will make up for the mediocre bloodbath, and that my plans for the tributes will entertain the Capitol enough to stay invested. I feel different than I did at the start of the Games. There has been no more disturbing news about the tributes, unlike during last year's Games, when Rowan had revealed what Tag Nylon had done. I shift uncomfortably in my seat just thinking about it, but I have no reason to be afraid. Livianus' son, the boy Rylex from Twelve, was killed in the bloodbath, making my job much easier. Livianus seemed slightly upset, but he must have known that a boy from Twelve didn't stand much of a chance of winning. He should be honored that his blood was chosen to die for his country.

I switch the television to a live feed of the Games. Claudius Templesmith's voice is soft as he narrates what's happening on-screen. Annoyed, I switch again to a silent live feed. I prefer to see what's happening for myself, thank you very much.

The screen is split, with one side showing the Careers returning to the Cornucopia. The girl from One, Passion, throws down her mace in frustration when she sees the supplies have been picked over. Marlowe agrees and starts pushing for another hunt after the thieves. On the other side, the pair from Eleven hurry back to the beach, grinning and laughing in excitement, water in their hands. The two have been a great ratings booster. Their friendship seemed to have warned the heart of even the most impassive sponsors. These Games, just like any other, are filled with both good and bad things. It's up to the tributes to ultimately make it what it is.

 _Precious Mavros (10)- D1- Passion's sister_

Mom and Dad have been glued to the television screen ever since Passion left home, leaving Pride and I to our own devices at times. I'm pretty sure Pride didn't go to sleep at all last night, and he's passed out with his head on the kitchen table when I come down for breakfast. At least we don't have school later today since it's Saturday. It's a shame- I've been more of a celebrity than usual at school since my sister is in the Games.

"Dominic!" I scream, mimicking Passion. Where are the servants?

"I'm here, child," Dominic steps out of the pantry, his eyes dark and fatigued. "I'll make your breakfast in a moment."

I stick my chin in the air. "It should already be ready."

Dominic bows slightly. "Yes, little mistress."

I grin and skip into the living room, where Mom and Dad are sitting with the television on, Claudius Templesmith's voice hushedly narrating the events onscreen. "She's got to stay focused," Mom says with a sigh as she turns up the volume. She glances over at me. "Precious, come over here!"  
I hurry to the television, gazing on my sister's face. Her face is slightly splattered with blood from the boy that she killed, panting hard with anger.

"What happened?" I ask, recognizing that expression anywhere.

"The Cornucopia was robbed," Dad says, coming to sit behind me and hold my shoulders. "The other tributes dishonored her, and now she has to take her revenge. Always remember, Precious, that the Mavros family name is more important than anything."

"If Passion wins, she'll have her own fortune," I chirp. "Then will I inherit the family fortune?"

Dad glances up to the awards and plaques of achievement in the glass case against the wall, the words "Light is out, Black is in!" plastered onto everything. Mom and Dad have always said that the family inheritance would go to whoever proved most worthy of it. I've been hearing about it since I was Pride's age.

"You still have Pride to compete with," Mom says sharply. "When is your dance class?"

"In a few hours," I say. "I want to stay here and watch Passion!"

Dad stands again. "Precious, Passion has her own struggles. You have to focus on your own. You don't want to end up as a nobody, do you?"

"No," I say, downcast.

"Mistress Precious, your breakfast is ready!"

I skip back into the kitchen, sitting at the black marble table and scooping eggs into my mouth. Dominic isn't alone in the kitchen anymore. His daughters have arrived, both of them looking sad and weary. I watch them curiously.

"Look happier," I order them. "Why are you sad?"

One of the daughters immediately bursts into tears and runs out of the room. Dominic watches her with sad eyes. "Poor Colette has been taking Callum's death hard," he murmurs.

"Why?" I demand. "Callum died for the glory of District One and your family."

He smiles sadly. "Yes. Now eat the rest of your food, Precious."

 _Kaine Thomason (14)- D8- Flux's best friend_

I've been spending most of my time when I'm not in school at Flux's house with her parents, who are becoming simultaneously more worried and more hopeful each day. I refuse to let myself be truly hopeful, but I don't want to be cynical. A few days ago some kids were talking during lunch about how Flux and her partner Thimble weren't going to last until the final eight, and I had to control my temper to try to keep calm. I haven't been back to school since, instead skipping to go around graffitiing the abandoned warehouses.

I kick a rock as I shake up my can of paint, spraying another line on the gray wall in front of me. I've been trying to paint to take my mind off of Flux, but every thought I have is of her. My hand seems to automatically guide me to the portrait of the little girl from Seven. Her dark hair and bright green eyes are piercing enough that I can recall them from memory, though she's been dead for days.

I step back and admire my work, listening to the distant sounds of factory emissions and machines clinking, taking in the image of the smiling girl, a halo reminiscent of the victor's crown atop her head.

"Hey you, boy! Stop right there!"

My breath catches in my throat. Two Peacekeepers are standing at the other end of the alley formed between the two warehouses. I quickly grab all the paints I can and sprint away, hearing my breath grow sharper in my ears. I run until my knees give out and I collapse onto the concrete ground. I glance behind me, but it seems I've lost the Peacekeepers.

"Are you the one who's been painting around the warehouse district?"

I look up to see a slender woman with jet black hair and a long nose, wearing an expensive-looking red dress and high heels.

"So what if I am?" I ask, standing and puffing out my chest. I won't let any Peacekeeper bootlicker frighten me.

"You could get in huge trouble," she says, staring deep into my eyes. "Not just a slap on the wrist or even some flogging. I've seen what you've been painting. It's enough to kill you, do you know that?"

"Anything the Capitol hates is worth dying for," I hiss, bristling.

She looks me up and down for a moment, then smiles. "You're a brave one, that's for sure. Say, won't you paint something for Thimble Brier? I think the district could use some reassurance after watching him get stuck on that cliff. And I think he would appreciate it as well."

I raise an eyebrow at her, then snort and say, "Okay. Do you know him or something?"

She sighs. "Not as well as I should. Once you turn eighteen, boy, come down to the Red for anything you desire." With a swish of her dress, she's gone.

 _Sedrick Wight (22)- D3- Caillou's brother_

People have always said that Caillou and I look alike, but I never saw it. But after watching her rise into the arena with a shaved head, I realized just how right they all are. I look in the mirror nowadays to see my own shaved hair and long nose and square face and I see hers as well.

"I have to head to work soon," I quietly tell Mom. She nods in assent and continues watching the television. It's old; a few pixels in the corner burned out, the screen flickering every now and then. It never bothered me before, but now I constantly worry that the screen will go out completely during an important moment for Caillou.

I used to hate going to work everyday after school, even more after I graduated and it became my all-consuming activity. But since Caillou was Reaped it's been like a relief to get to tear myself away from the screen and do mindless work for twelve hours. The factory is a nice monotony that numbs my brain for the day. I'd rather that Caillou die while I'm away than watch it happen and be unable to do anything about it.

I leave the small apartment in my overall uniform, watching as the rest of the district also head out to their jobs. A few apartments are completely dark, people heading out early rather than watch the Games. On my commute, I pass the home of the dead tribute Dylan Bronze. I had no idea who he or his parents were before the Reaping, but the tributes' families become celebrities of pity for a while. A pot of food, probably paid for by several families, is sitting on the doorstep. The apartment is dark and quiet. Who knows where the grieving parents are doing.

The square is also filled with people, mostly gamblers, who are watching the Games on the wide screen. Caillou's face is projected large, her hands stained with berry juice and her eyes tired and lethargic as she wakes up and gets ready for the day. A low murmur flows through the crowd, and a few people notice me walking past and stare. I turn to face the alley in front of me, disappearing into it and taking the long way to the factory. I don't like the others' sympathy no their pity.

All of this reminds me of when our grandfather died, except Caillou had still been here. We still felt like a family, just one member short. We had gotten stares in the streets then as well, and even some food left for us in our hard times by those who could afford it. Caillou had disappeared to her friend Jessica's house more nights than usual, and she spent more and more time at the station with our mother, helping her with her detective work. She had wanted to try and solve crimes in order to feel some kind of agency after grandfather's death, I think. But if Caillou dies in the Hunger Games, there won't be anything we can do. The Capitol is untouchable.

 _Roselle Everett (10)- D11- Luna's sister_

Abella is snoring softly beside me, still peacefully sleeping. Though it's slightly late, and we should both get up to start chores, I don't want to wake her. Instead I listen to the sounds of the birds chirping outside and smelling the faint scent of peaches and wildflowers on the breeze flowing through the cracks in the wooden wall. Abella has been having a hard time sleeping ever since Luna was Reaped. She's too young to understand what the Games really are, but old enough to know she should be scared. At least she still has a few years to be a child. Next year will be my first year in the Reaping, and I'll have just as many slips of paper in the Reaping bowl as Luna did due to tesserae.

Unless Luna wins, in which case I'll only have one slip of paper with my name on it next year. My heart constricts in a similar feeling of helplessness.

The deafening sound of the front door closing puts a halt to my train of thought. Abella stirs next to me. I slowly sit up and slip out of bed, rubbing my eyes. Mom is in the main room in her picking clothes. The Hunger Games usually take place just before picking season. Abella and I will be out with our parents picking fruit in the orchards unless Luna wins and brings us her prize money. This will be Abella's first year in the trees instead of on the ground cleaning the fruits.

"Good morning," Mom says with a tired smile. "The shift master let me come home to check on you."

"That's nice of him," I say. She must have lucked out and got one of the more pleasant shift masters today. But I can hear the underlying meaning of her words- he didn't let her off to check on Abella and I, but rather on Luna.

Mom clicks on the television as she draws me in for a hug with her other arm. We both stare at the screen as the girl from Three paints her skin with berry juice. Not long after, the feed switches to Luna and Thorn sitting on the beach. They're both tired after a restless night, but at least they have water. I feel a flicker of hope begin to spark in my chest.

"The odds are in their favor now!"I say excitedly, turning to Mom.

She smiles at me. "Yes." She leans down so that she's on my level. "Don't lose hope, Roselle. Luna is strong and she'll do anything to come back to us."  
"And she has Thorn to help her," I say assuredly.

"That's right. Roselle… won't you stay here and watch Luna to make sure she's alright? I have to go back to work soon."

"Of course," I say with a smile. I plop myself on the floor in front of the television and Mom smiles at me sadly.

"Thank you, Roselle. I'll send Jake over to keep you company."

She leaves, and not long after, our neighbor Jake appears. He sits with his legs crossed beside me and hands me a persimmon. "Where did you get this?" I gasp. "You didn't steal it did you?" I glance around us as if expecting Peacekeepers to burst into the house.

"Someone gave it to me," he says, sounding bittersweet. "A whole basket of them. I think it was someone who knows the other tribute, Thorn. The basket came with a note that said maybe he isn't a thorn in their side like they always thought."

 _Gaia Thames (18)- D4- Marlowe's best friend_

I politely put my hand up to refuse breakfast from the family servant, instead sipping nervously on my tea. My mother is the only one who seems to care about my refusal, giving me a questioning eye, but she doesn't say anything. She really was the only person who ever cared about my deliberate denial of food. Everyone else knew, as I do, that it makes a woman more beautiful and more palatable to be delicate and dainty. Until I was too weak to complete daily training at the Academy, and I had to drop out.

When that happened, Marlowe was the only person who was there for me, because she understood to an extent. She also has trouble with acting normal. While I never say anything, Marlowe lashes out. While I avoid conflict, Marlowe seems to thrive on it. We bonded over our pain. Now I have no one except myself and my mother's slightly misplaced concern. She cares about my health, but not about _me_ like Marlowe does.

"You're going to the doctor later," my mother reminds me. "But before that we're visiting the Baharis."

"Yes, Mom," I say delicately, taking another sip of tea. Personally, I think the family we should be visiting is that of the dead tribute Faroud. His mother is the only living member of his family, who lives alone in a house by the sea. Without her son, she's completely alone. But my parents, Marlowe's, and the rest of our neighborhood doesn't seem to care very much. Faroud failed, and that's it.

After breakfast, I take some time to watch last night's events in the arena. The Careers had returned to the Cornucopia and decided to rest, but I know they won't forgive their supplies being stolen. Especially Marlowe.

Marlowe's parents seem to think similarly when we go to visit them later. "Our girl is making us so proud!" Marlowe's mother exclaims over our slices of cake. I refuse to have any, a moment of self-control that she praises me for, but one for which my own mother gives me a disapproving side-eye.

"She's only had one kill so far, but I think everyone can tell how vicious and determined she is," Marlowe's father says, taking another bite of frosted chocolate cake. "The Capitol knows that the odds are in her favor. She has the best chance of winning and I'm sure the sponsors know that."

"And the most beautiful," Reggie, Marlowe's boyfriend, adds. I glance at him with a smile. Reggie has always been good to Marlowe, always forgiving her when she breaks her promises or cheats or even hits him, which has only happened once. But when he meets my eyes, I can see the worry there. The worry that maybe she has betrayed his trust since leaving Four. Maybe she's slept with other tributes, bad-mouthed him, or done something similar.

I nervously sip at my water, wondering if he would forgive her no matter what she did. If he could forgive her killing young children, then I suppose he wouldn't mind anything else.

 _Dornan Flint (26)- D12- Terra's brother_

I wake to the sounds of the birds chirping outside and the sunlight streaming in through my window. I wordlessly sit up and start pulling on my clothes, preparing for a day at the mines. All I have in the house is a loaf of stale bread, and I tear off a chunk before heading outside. I don't bother checking the television for updates on the Games. I haven't watched since the bloodbath. Who's going to stop me? The mine supervisors give us updates during lunch anyway. Outside, the other miners are getting ready as well, making their soundless journey to the mines in their uniforms. I follow, hearing the screen door creak as it slowly closes. I hate being there. Terra was hardly ever home except for when she was sleeping, just as I was, but I hate knowing that she's not coming back. The small wooden structure is overly quiet and lonely now.

I keep my eyes out for Terra's friends and fellow thieves Lucy and Roman, but I haven't seen them in over five days. They tried to bring me food and some money when Terra was still alive, but it seems they've given up.

As I reach the lift which will take us down to the mines, I notice the boy Siggo waiting listlessly to the side, staring at the ground. I can sympathize with him. I didn't know it before the Games, but he was the best friend of the boy who died, Rylex. Everyone was disappointed and sad after both tributes died in the bloodbath, but we're all used to twelve not lasting long in the Hunger Games. The families are the ones that take it hard; who are easily identifiable by the dark, faraway look in their eyes. I remember the boy Rylex himself having that look five years ago after his brother died in the bloodbath. The cloud of gloom that seemed to follow him wherever he went. I saw it in so many others before this year, and now I'm the one who is in its grip.

I gently move over to where the boy Siggo is standing. He barely seems to take notice of me approaching. I recall Rylex's interview where he mentioned Siggo, and asked if he would want to be more than friends after the Games were over.

"Hey," I murmur softly to him. Siggo looks up at me with unfocused eyes.

"Yes?" he asks in confusion.

"I think Terra and Rylex were good friends," I say, getting right to the point. His eyes widen in realization as he recognizes me. "I'm glad Terra had a friend in her… last days."

Siggo's eyes fill with tears. "Rylex could have made a starving coyote his friend. He just loved everyone…"

I can tell he's about to start crying, so I put an arm around him as the lift starts to move slowly downward. I should have spent more time with Terra, but maybe I won't have to be completely alone without her.

 _Gregor Lavalée (40)- D7- Raven and Sparrow's father_

I harrumph to myself as I watch the kids play outside, their easygoing laughter grating my ears. It reminds me too much of Raven's laughter when he was a child, carefree, running around with the neighborhood kids without a care in the world. His mother and I would watch fondly, chuckling to ourselves. It seems like that was a lifetime ago. I'm certainly a different person than I was when my wife was alive.

I can still see her beautiful blue-grey eyes, sharp and intense, just like Sparrow's. It hurt to look at Sparrow everyday, recalling the expression of fear and pain on her mother's face on the birth-bed, knowing that she was about to die. I could never forgive her. Even when Sparrow died on that screen, I didn't cry. I didn't feel anything, except a slight sense of relief. Only later did I feel some guilt. The love of my life died to give birth to her, and she died anyway. The world works in contradictory ways like that.

My stump leg thumps against the wooden floor as I move painstakingly to the kitchen, pouring myself some coffee. It's a common drink in Seven, but poorer families like my own can't afford it. The rest of the neighborhood had pitched in to buy me some, along with some food and warm clothes for the winter. They suspect that Raven won't make it home, and I'll be left without any means of supporting myself. I should have told them to leave me be; it's not like I'll live longer just because of some bread and milk they scrounged up for me. Come winter, I'll starve here in this little house all alone. It's not like I have much to live for anyway.

I flick on the television and take a drink of strong, bitter coffee as Raven's face appears on-screen. His skin is pale and his eyes are red, and I recognize the illness he carefully hid from me for weeks while he was in Seven. It has several names- the Cough, the marsh disease, the poor man's sickness. He was a fool for working down in the dangerous marshes. He knew the risks and he took them for Sparrow anyway, so she could have a good life. Just like he did in the Games, and look at what happened after volunteering. She died, and now he lives.

A knock on the door disturbs my thoughts. I grumble as I limp over, cracking the door and peering out with a distrustful eye. It's Raven's naive friend Sadie, waiting with a sweet, anxious smile. In her arms is a sweet pastry in a glass dish.

"Hello," she says with a wavering voice. "I brought you some pie. Dinah helped make it, but she's still too… she couldn't make it."

Dinah, Sparrow's best friend. I haven't seen her since the bloodbath.

"Thank you," I say gruffly, opening the door wider to grab the pie. "You shouldn't come around here anymore. I don't need your pity."

Sadie looks shocked. "Well, I'm sure Raven would want-"

"Raven is going to die and it won't matter what he would want," I snap, ignoring the shocked look on her face. "And he never cared about me in the first place. Take care of your own family, girl, before they're gone."

I shut the door in her face.

 _Ciera Rowley (19)- D5- Rai's best friend_

I sip at my orange juice, lazily watching the day unfold outside my window. I don't have work today as a manager in training at my parents' factory, so I get to stay in and watch the Hunger Games. Lucky me.

My parents left this morning, off to visit the family of the surviving tribute, Volt. His parents are also a wealthy Five family, and very proud to have a son who outlived the bloodbath. But they've also been incredibly worried, especially his mother. She's been crying while doing her shopping in the market and coming into the factory that her husband owns just to weep in front of all of the workers. She's not the only one who is distraught over Volt. He's beloved by everyone at school, everyone who ever even spoke to him.

Rai, on the other hand, didn't have much of a hold on the people of Five. Nobody cared about her at all until her electric entrance in the Tribute Parade, but even then she was overshadowed in their eyes but charismatic Volt. Her interview was good as well… but then she was cut down in the bloodbath. Hatred fills my veins as I imagine the face of the girl from Two, Leto, standing over her body with a bloodstained whip like she was just taking care of business, not taking lives of innocent people. Everyone was over Rai's death in a heartbeat. No one knew her. She had no family; she grew up in the Care Home. No one knew about her job as an illegal Capitolite escort, and she had no other job where she could make friends. I think I'm the only person in Five who even knew she existed before she was Reaped. I was lucky to meet her

Eventually I tire of sitting around doing nothing. I don't want to watch the Games and see Volt's smirking face reminding me of Rai's loss. I grab some money from the locked cabinet in the library, a place my parents think thieves wouldn't know to look, and head out to the marketplace. It's about the only place in the district that I can stand aside from our neighborhood. The rest of the district is sad, grey, and constantly covered in a thick layer of smoke from the factories.

I avoid the street where Rai lived, taking a longer route. By the time I reach the market, the shops are already full of people shopping on their day off. Some desperately look at the price on every loaf of bread, every half-rotted vegetable for something they can afford. Others are milling around with their purses clutched tightly in their hands. A large projection of the Games are available to watch on the wall of the luxury clothing store, and several people have stopped to watch with rapt interest. I hurry past it and into the bakery.

The place is full of sweet treats, but my eyes zone in on the muffins. There's a plump blueberry one that looks delicious. I step up to pay for it, and the girl at the counter smiles at me.

"You're the friend of the girl who died," she says.

I blink in shock. "How did you know that?"

"I saw you two together sometimes," she says with a sad nod at the window. "She used to come in and buy cupcakes."

Rai did love her sweet food.

"She was a sweet girl," she says. "It's too bad that she died. I was rooting for her."

Maybe I'm not the only one who knew Rai existed. I smile and the girl as I take my muffin, leaving the shop with a spring in my step, and a renewed liking for Volt. It's not his fault he was the one who survived the bloodbath, or that he was born into a rich family like I was. He's the only shot we have left at a victor this year.

 _Twiggy Urakaka (18)- D9- Blossom's sister_

The morning is silent around the field. The wooden houses are dark and unassuming as I walk through them in my plain brown buckskin. I'm not supposed to be out this early without permission from the elders, but I needed to get some air. Lately my dreams have been plagued with visions of Blossom burning to death on the pyre in the fashion the elders intended. The strange part about it, the reason that they have me so unnerved, is that she never screams. The flames lick at her ankles and then crawl up her dress to reach her body and face, even setting ablaze her heretical red hair, and she nevers lets out a peep. I shiver just thinking about it. The elders say that dreams are malicious visions that try to lead us away from the great Skull. I should just ignore the visions, but they rattle my mind more than they should.

I wander to the edge of the forest, where Paresh and Twiggy and I used to play as children. We knew even then that Blossom's red hair was a problem, but we had no idea what would come of it. It seems the elders didn't either, and that's what worries me the most. They were angry when Blossom volunteered for the Games. The great fire and the Skull demand a soul every year on reaping day, and they had no other victim to offer forth. They told everyone that this was all apart of the plan of the Skull. It was foreseen in the fire that Blossom would die in tribute to the Skull in the Hunger Games.

But what if she doesn't? I shiver even harder, rubbing my hands together as I come across a small clearing in the woods where we used to mock-burn Blossom for blasphemy. There's no guarantee that Blossom will die in the Games. She could survive and end up returning victorious, with all the protection in the world from the Capitol and the Peacekeepers. We'll never be able to get near her, let alone burn her.

My mind has been racing since the Reaping. I know it's horrible to think these thoughts. I should trust in the elders and the will of the great fire, but something doesn't seem right. I'm starting to wish I had gone to see Blossom after the Reaping to say goodbye. I shouldn't have been so distant after the elders proclaimed her a heretic.

"Twiggy?"

I turn to see my other sister Paresh standing with her arms crossed behind me at the edge of the woods. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I was just bored," I say.

"Doesn't mean you can be out here," she says impatiently. "And we have planting duty today. You better come do your morning dedications."

She's right. We head back to the house together, and eat our simple meal of unleavened grain and some goat milk with our parents. We perform our morning rites to the Skull god and light the hearth fire. The whole time, I think of Blossom.

The television in the Circle at the center of the village is on, blasting the Hunger Games. I watch it with interest as we pass on our way to the fields. The boy from Nine, Alder, just died yesterday. It was an emotional moment for me, and only me. The others couldn't care less what happens in the Hunger Games, as long as Blossom dies viciously. But I had grown attached to Alder, imagining him keeping Blossom company at the Capitol. They were both untrusting and shy, but I'm sure they got along. I wonder if she's sad about his death. I wonder how his family feels after losing someone so tragically who was supposed to live a long happy life outside of the cult. All I have is my imagination, because unless Blossom wins and is able to help me escape, I'll never know what it's like to exist outside of this place.

 _Homer Ventus (18)- D2- Cyprian's best friend_

The Training Academy is busier than ever during the Hunger Games. There's something about watching the death and action on-screen that makes everyone foam at the mouth for some blood. The trainees are constantly packed in the training gym, watching the Games on the big screen on the wall if something interesting is happening, and otherwise sparring with each other. There was cheering last night when the Career pack killed Jeremy and Alder, especially when Cyprian finished off Jeremy. It was a popularity boost that he desperately needed. People have been confused and upset about his secret alliance with the guy from Five, Volt.

"Hey, Homer, will you help me spar?" a fifteen-year old trainee shyly asks me, offering a dull training sword. I take it with a smile.

"Of course! Let's find our own corner."

Though I don't have any more chances to volunteer, given that this was my last Reaping, I'm somewhat of a celebrity right now among the trainees. Everyone knew that I'm Cyprian's best friend, and all of the younger trainees want to train with me. It's the same with Leto's best friend Adrienne, who is only sixteen. She's been training with all of the younger girls, chit-chatting and laughing amicably with everyone. The word in the locker rooms is that Adrienne is set to be the volunteer two years from now, but I have to scoff whenever I hear it. The volunteer for each year isn't chosen until weeks before the Reaping. There are so many trainees that drop out, even in the months leading up to the Games as their training gets harder.

The boy and I spar for a few matches. I win most of them, but he catches me off guard a few times. He's a smart kid, and might have a future for him here in the Academy. Adrienne comes over to talk to me afterward. Her smile is blinding. She's the perfect Two girl, heiress to the Starlet fortune and a trained killer.

"Leto and Cyprian are doing well," she comments, glancing up to the screen where the boy from Eight, Thimble, is shivering on his cliff ledge. It makes me snort.

"The Gamemakers have a weird sense of humor."

"I don't think it's that funny," Adrienne says, watching with a frown on her beautiful face. Now I know she definitely won't be chosen as the volunteer two years from now, unless she changes her mindset. You can't be sympathetic toward the other tributes, even your allies.

Of course, Cyprian might have fallen into the same trap. I seem to be the only one who wasn't surprised when he seemed to have bonded with Volt. Cyprian was always so desperate for love, the love his parents didn't give him and the love he was too afraid to seek in romantic relationships. He never told me about his preference for boys, but I always suspected. I could tell he was ashamed, like it clashed with his Two tough guy image.

"As long as he dies," I respond, setting down my sword on the rack.

She sighs and returns her attention to me again. "Are you going to spend the day here?"

"I think so." I would sleep here if I could. Cyprian and I would spend all of our time here avoiding our families, their glares, their shouts, their fists. Adrienne seems to have a similar philosophy, but I think for different reasons. She doesn't like being rich or spending time in her giant nasion with her servants and crystal cups and chandeliers. So she spends her time training for the Hunger Games, as if winning would change any of that.

"Me too," she says. "I want to see how the day pans out." She nods toward the screen again. "I think we have a good shot at another victor this year."

 _Wench Chevy (22)- D6- Pagani's brother_

It's difficult to admit that Pagani getting Reaped has made our lives slightly better in the meantime, but I can't deny that the free food and medicine hasn't been helpful. The only problem is that Mom has been returning every night with more and more morphling than usual. I don't want to know how she's getting it, since we don't have much money. I know why she's using so much, though. The thought of Pagani dying in a painful, bloody way haunts my dreams.

This morning I sit in the alley with Mom like usual, Mary gone somewhere to find some food, maybe beg for some money. Pleading that our other main caregiver is off in the Hunger Games is an effective tactic to wring coins out of people. But even if it doesn't work, we won't starve until a few days after the Games are over, when everyone forgets about Pagani and starts worrying about next year's tributes. That is, unless Pagani wins, in which case we won't have to worry about money ever again.

I eat an apple for breakfast. I don't think I've had fruit since we were kicked onto the streets years ago. Yesterday the Warrior gang gifted us a bag of them, all pristine and juicy. I bite into it deliciously. The Warriors have even scrounged up enough money to pay for some pain medicine for me,

Mary revealed to us the night of the Reaping that Pagani was actually planning to volunteer at her last Reaping when she was eighteen. The news shocked me at first, but it shouldn't have. That's the way Pagani is. She would do anything to protect us and provide for us, and she would see volunteering for the Hunger Games as a necessary gamble.

I hear a familiar sound approaching us in our alley. Mom stirs in her restless sleep and I stand attentively. Dante and Lance appear in the alleyway, both of them smiling. They approach and each shake my hand. It's pleasant to be treated like a human being again. It's a shame that Pagani being Reaped was the way it happened.

"We have a surprise for you," Dante says. With Logan gone, he's the leader of the Warriors. And while I know the boys must long for Logan to win more than anything, they've been nothing but kind to us after seeing that Logan and Pagani allied in the Games. They respect his wishes even when he's half the continent away. His girlfriend Natalie has been particularly insistent.

"What kind of surprise?" I ask skeptically. When you're homeless, most surprises end up as pranks or staged gifts that really don't help anything aside from the ego of the giver.

"Come with us," Lance insists excitedly. He and Dante help Mom stand, and we all stumble out of the alley. We walk toward the territory of the Warriors, but I look back nervously at our little alley home. It's become something of a safe haven this past few months we've been staying there.

We head to a block of apartments on the outskirts of the Warrior territory. Mary is waiting outside with a grin. "Here," she says, tossing a key to me. I catch it and examine it with astonishment.

"What is this?" I look around desperately for an answer. Everyone grins at us knowingly.

"Everyone pitched in a little for a down payment on an apartment," Dante chirps. "Mary is our first official female member of the Warriors, and she has a job at Lance's dad's auto repair shop. She's good with machines, you know."

An income and a place to stay? The apartments look cheap and dank, but it's still a place to live. I feel tears well up in my eyes as I hug Dante and then Lance, then my mother. She seems confused, but I can tell this will be the start of something better in our lives. All at the cost of Pagani. Her absence still grips my heart even as I hug Mary. I can tell she feels it too.

 _Sultan Oramo (18)- D10- Caiden's boyfriend_

Each morning ever since Caiden was Reaped has been a struggle, but after the bloodbath, I barely have any motivation to get out of bed. Being with the Clawfords is the only thing that helps, but eventually all of our grief molds into a monster than none of us can stand, and I have to get away for a day or so. But going to work is worse, watching the faces of the other farm hands as I ride up, their pity as they try to talk about anything except the Hunger Games. Now that both our tributes are dead, everyone seems to be almost relieved that they no longer have to worry about winning, but Caiden's death still weighs on me.

Her face swims in my vision as I slowly rise out of bed and methodically start to put on articles of clothing. My father is giving me a break from working, at least until the Games are over. I'm grateful. I can't stand to keep my mask on when I'm around the farmhands any longer.

I leave our house and watch them round up the cattle at the other end of the property. The Oramo Ranch is large, which is partly why my father wanted me to work as a ranch hand before I inherited the ranch itself; to get hands-on experience with the animals and the land. That's how I met Caiden, and how I thought we would live the rest of our lives together, but I was wrong.

I head to the stables to grab my favorite horse Snowball, who is named after a round blotch of while on her nose. We ride out of the Ranch and past the Clawfords house. Despite their loss, they can't afford to miss a few days of work. Lance is probably out in the fields and their father is likely still sleeping or watching the Games on their small television. I promised them I would help by giving them some extra money each month now that Caiden is gone, but I wonder how long my father will allow that. He didn't like me being with Caiden anyway. She was too boyish and loud and worst of all, poor. I feel tears well in my eyes thinking about her and I wipe them away.

Ten is a large district and the town is right in the center, with the ranches spread out along the perimeter. Snowball and I arrive at our destination at about noon. I slip off her back and tie her to one of the post s outside the building. I can hear the rumbles of a distant audio of the Games playing in the Square. I open the door with a jingle and smile at the young boy at the counter, not bothering to examine the meats in the freezers that line the walls.

"Is this the home of Jeremy Caulfield?" I ask politely. His face falls a little, but he seems used to the question.

"Yes, it is," he says with a sad smile. "Well, it was."

I suddenly recognize him. He's the boy that Jeremy volunteered for, just a small boy of thirteen. "He was your brother," I say with dawning realization.

"Yes," he says very quietly.

"Who is this, Timmy?" a good-natured voice asks as a large man emerges from the freezer behind him. "What can I get for you ,sir?"

"Oh, I just wanted to offer my condolences," I say with a smile. "I understand Jeremy was your adopted son, or something of that sort. I'm Sultan Oramo of Oramo Ranch. I believe you buy some of our meats from time to time."

"Yes, Oramo takes good care of their animals," the man says, perfectly professional. "Thank you for stopping to see us."

"My father wanted to offer you some deals for the upcoming year. We know this must be a hard time for you."

"You're very kind," he says, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. "Not everyone puts their profits above their humanity."

I leave the butcher's shop with a genuine smile on my face. The family seems pleasant, and clearly missing their other son. And it was nice to connect with people who are going through the same thing that I am.

 _Rowan Loukios (29)- Former Gamemaker_

I keep my sunglasses on as I sip my coffee, watching the parents pull their kids along to the bar, the couples sitting at the high tables, the old men and women ambling along with their cups in their hands looking for a place to sit. I avoid everyone's eyes just in case anyone recognizes me. Not many would know the face of the former head of statistics for the Gamemaking Center, but there are a few Hunger Games fanatics out there who know every player in the Games, tribute or not.

It will be more dangerous for Marcelle once she arrives. She's on the television all the time asking for donations and sponsor money for the Games and her pink hair is a dead give-away. Still, she was the one who asked to meet me in public. I know exactly why- this is Marcelle's favorite cafe, a place she can go during her breaks without arousing any suspicions from Bellona.

The door jingles as Marcelle enters, and I nervously cross my arms and look out the window. A family of five are walking past, one of the boys crying loudly about his favorite tribute, Jeremy, dying the previous day. The city is alive with activity, everyone in quite a high mood as always during the Games. A low bloodbath death count was disappointing to many at first, until they realized it meant there were more contestants for victor, and a longer, bloodier Hunger Games. The tension is palpable in the air, even though the Games are only casually playing on a small screen in the corner of the cafe. No one is watching avidly, only occasionally glancing up from their own screens or their coffee or their conversations, but I've spent enough time observing people's reactions to the Games for my prior job to know that everyone is dying to see who the next kill will be.

Marcelle comes over to sit at my table with her cup of tea. It's a bright purple one, smelling of lavender and sparkling like it came from a magical fairy world. Marcelle has always like pink and purple things. She's wisely wrapped a scarf around her tell-tale pink hair, and sets her sunglasses on the table to take a sip of tea. Her eyes examine me closely, all while smiling in her distinct, friendly, Marcelle-like way.

"It's good to see you, Rowan," she says.

"You too," I say, not sure if I'm being honest. We haven't spoken in person since I was fired, when Marcelle told me about how she thought Bellona was scheming against the two of us. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat as she searches my eyes.

"Why did you ask to meet me here?" I ask before she can talk control of the conversation.

Marcelle takes another sip of tea and gives me a reassuring smile, not missing a beat. "I just wanted to revisit the subject of your employment," she says sweetly. "It kills me to know you're sitting at home doing nothing. You don't deserve that."

I stay silent. I agree, but I don't want to tell her. I can't tell her the real reason I was fired. President Snow likely had something to do with it, as well as Bellona. And I can't tell her that I haven't tried getting another job because I'm too afraid. President Snow has never been kind to those who displease him, or those who have knowledge that could destroy the tradition of the Hunger Games. I would never reveal to the world the true identity of Tag Nylon, but that wouldn't stop Snow from neutralizing the threat.

Marcelle sets down her teacup and sighs. "Rowan, I care about you. Bellona might have abandoned us both, but we can still stick together."

"And abandon her?" I ask sharply.

She raises an eyebrow. "What does that mean? She's already proven she doesn't care what happens to you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I snap, turning to the window. A fountain in the middle of the shopping square erupts with water and a few children squeal in excitement. An advertisement flashes with images of Passion Mavros in her interview outfit, followed by Mavros Incorporated products, all sleek jet black.

"You shouldn't be angry with me. I'm on your side." I can see Marcelle out of the corner of my eye, sipping her tea again. "Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," I say, suddenly standing and grabbing my coat.

She looks taken aback, and it takes everything in me not to sit back down and explain the situation to her. I don't want to push her away, but it's for her own safety. I leave my coffee behind, storming out of the cafe with my heart beating fast. I hope I don't burst into tears in the middle of the shopping center. Then my face would definitely be plastered all over the city. _Former Gamemaker breaks down in public after resignation!_ The reporters would have a field day.

It's better this way. I don't want to drag Marcelle into this. If I knew that becoming a Gamemaker would cause all of my friendships to crash and burn, I would never have done it. I wonder if Bellona and Marcelle feel the same.

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 **Next chapter, we'll be back in the arena. Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Did you like getting the perspectives of the families, or would you prefer to only have chapters about the tributes themselves? I'm planning to write more SYOTs after this one so I like receiving a variety of opinions about what I should do.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


	31. Day Five: Dark Paradise

**Hey everyone!**

 **...**

 **I know it's been a long time. A lot has happened since I last updated. I hope no one thought that I would abandon the story, as that was never my intention. I really enjoy writing, it's just that stress sort of got to me for a while.**

 **I'm not sure how long it will take me to update next, but I'll try to get it up within two weeks. If you need to reread the last few chapters to remember what's happened, I completely understand. If you're upset because I haven't updated in a long time, I understand that too. Also, let me know if your sponsor points aren't up to date. I'll change them if you PM me with the correct amount :)**

 **Please enjoy the chapter! Panem is a great place to escape to, even if it is horrible and oppressive. Regardless, let's have a good time in the Hunger Games together xD**

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 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

I have the last watch, which means I get to see the sun rise slowly and the moon's face fading out of the sky. I've been keeping my eyes and ears open for any sign of the Careers or other tributes, but I've seen nothing so far. The creature that we encountered hasn't followed us either, thankfully. Perhaps the forest is more dangerous than we thought.

Volt is sleeping peacefully at my feet, Logan tossing and turning behind me. His brow is furrowed, making small noises throughout the night. He reminds me of my mother's fitful nights on the streets, her mumbling and twitching beside me. I pick up our empty water bottle and frown. We can't keep living like this; repeatedly robbing the Cornucopia and hoping that the Careers won't see us. Especially since someone _did_ see us last night, who could have easily taken on. The pair from Eleven were clearly weakened, but Logan let them get away! He'll see someday that he can't be the hero forever. We'll get unlucky eventually, and end up having to face other tributes head-on, Career or not.

Logan wakes first, his eyes red and swollen like he didn't really sleep. He grunts at me in greeting and heads out to the other side of the hill where we've been relieving ourselves. Volt stirs a few minutes later, yawning. "I'm thirsty," he complains.

I roll my eyes, but try not to let him see. "The water is gone."

Volt makes a face, but then shrugs with a bright smile. "Oh, well. We can always get more."

"We shouldn't be living like this," I say hotly. "We should ambush the Careers. Today, right now! Before they wake up. We'll catch them by surprise and kill them off, then take control of the Cornucopia."

"We won't do any such thing," Logan's voice issues from behind me. I turn back with a sigh. I knew he would oppose me. "We wouldn't stand a chance against four Careers. Volt isn't a fighter."

Volt doesn't look offended; I'm the one that bristles. "Taking on the Careers was why we created this alliance! Instead we're like the bottom-feeders of the pool, taking all the crap they don't want."

Logan meets my eyes, his own very weary. "I understand what you're saying, Pagani. That's what I wanted us to be… but we lost half of our people in the bloodbath." He shakes his head, looking down. I can hear the strain in his voice. "We failed our mission."

There's a moment of silence, then Volt says serenely, "I don't think we've failed."

Both our heads turn to him. We gazes at us each with his usual charismatic smile. "We're still here, aren't we? We can still stand as tribute for our districts. That's why we were Reaped, after all."

I know part of what he's saying is just to endear us to the Capitol, but the essence of what he's saying is true. It would be foolish to give up now and just resign ourselves to mere survival when we could be living large as a major threat to the other tributes. I knew Volt would speak some sense into Logan.

"We've killed a Career already," I entreat Logan. He watches me warily, but I can tell he's mulling over our words. "If we have the element of surprise, then we'll have the upper hand. We could pick them off one by one, starting with a guard if they have one, then sneaking up on the other three, stabbing one in the back before they realize we're there, then the three of us against the remaining two, you and me just like-"

"Okay, okay," Logan interrupts. I see the argument has finally gotten through to him. "I see what you're saying. But don't you think we should strategize a bit more before just running out there?"

"I agree," Volt says quickly. He looks directly to me. "We should wait until tonight, once they're all asleep or getting ready to sleep. They'll be easier to sneak up on."

I open my mouth in protest, then close it. "You're right," I grumble. "Let's draw up a real plan, shall we?"

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

Luna and I sit and gulp down water, listening to the waves softly lap at the sand, the sun gently rising on the horizon. I can feel my eyes slipping shut the longer we stay still, but for an entirely different reason than before. Now I'm hydrated and content, ready for rest after a night of raiding, when before we were nearly passing out from dehydration. I look over at Luna and she gives me a cheeky smile, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. Even though she can be annoying at times, I would be annoyed around anyone, regardless of who they were. Luna isn't the worst person to be stuck with. In fact, I might even call her… a friend.

Which is an interesting insight. I separate myself from the thought and examine it for a moment. Have I ever had a friend before, aside from Georgie? Even with her, things were never just 'friendly'. They were intense and passionate right from the start, especially on her end. Luna and I are more like compatriots, in the Games together for better or worse. It's strange to think I would make my first friend in a twelve-year old girl in a competition where at least one of us must die, but that's how death works. Constantly playing jokes on us tiny mortals.

I reach into the sand and draw a large 'eleven', just two long lines with my finger. Luna raises an eyebrow at it.

"You and me," I say, pointing to each 'one' in turn. "Together we make District Eleven."

She giggles a little. "I didn't think you were poetic at all, Thorn."

 _There are lots of things we don't know about each other,_ I think to myself. I guess it doesn't matter if we'll be dead soon anyway.

But we won't die today. The two of us settle into a small alcove against a large rock on the shore. We're hidden in the shadow, but we decide to take shifts sleeping anyway, in case someone comes to this part of the shore. Luna settles into the sand, her skin just as covered in it as mine. I sit beside her, watching the waves flow rhythmically to my outstretched feet. It's a warm day, with the sun hot above us, but it's not too bad in the shade.

"Do you think those people will follow us?" Luna asks suddenly.

I know exactly who she's talking about: the other alliance who saw us at the Cornucopia, also stealing goods from the Careers. It seems we weren't the only ones who were desperate. It's oddly comforting.

"Maybe," I say. "But if they did, then they're either horribly slow or they got stuck in a hole."

Luna punches me in the arm and turns over to go to sleep. I smirk to myself, but my mind wanders to the two boys who died last night. One was a Career, the guy from Ten who joined up, and the other was the boy from Nine. It sounded like a horrible battle, and I don't want Luna and I to get caught up in one just like it.

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M_

Marlowe is pacing in a way that I've gotten used to, but which Leto still seems to think as suspicious. Leto pulls up her dark hair, now dirty and almost matted from four whole days in the arena. Marlowe sneers to herself as she mumbles quietly, twirling her baton in her hand as if practicing a dance routine. Passion is sitting to the side, her eyes fixed on an open crate near the Cornucopia's mouth, it's contents strewn all over the ground, some missing.

We won a great battle last night, but lost another one. We were victorious over the traitor Jeremy and his little ally who I hadn't managed to kill during the bloodbath. Yet while we were gone, it seems we were robbed. Some would even say picked clean. About half of our water is gone and so is quite a bit of the food. Our own survival chances are not severely diminished; it's our reputation that's tarnished. Marlowe was the first one to declare she wanted to retaliate, and while Leto urged us to wait until morning, I can tell by the twitching of her cheek that she's angry as well.

I can only hope that wherever Volt is, he's safe. Hopefully with his allies, far away from here, with enough food and water to last him a few more days before he returns. Last night I dreamed of our night together when he told me he would find a way for us to be together. I can still see his electric blue eyes staring into my own, like he was reading my soul and my life. For once, I'm willing to take a chance on my own happiness instead of trying to be the tough brute everyone has always expected me to be. What would it be like to spend my days with Volt, before one or both of us dies? Even just one night with him felt more meaningful than any time I'd spent with my parents, who hate me, or the fake dates I went on with pretty girls to convince the Academy that I was actually a tough guy who could represent Two in the Games.

"Are we ready or what?" Passion suddenly snaps, standing with her hand on her hip. Her tone and attitude are the same Passion that I've gotten used to, but her eyes don't match. They're dark, like a light has been extinguished inside them. Marlowe gives her a dirty look over her shoulder. Ever since Passion stopped her from killing that cow, she hasn't spoken to her. Marlowe flips back her blonde hair and twirls her baton faster.

Leto sighs, standing and taking a sip of water. "If we're ready, then let's go." She turns her sharp eyes to me. "Cyprian will stay behind and guard the supplies." I try not to seem too relieved. I was hoping I would get to stay behind and see if Volt would return.

Leto faces Marlowe and Passion again. "The three of us will stay together. And _protect_ each other if something happens."

I know she's referring to Faroud, but Marlowe doesn't seem too distraught about her district partner, just rolling her eyes and sighing. "Fine."

Passion doesn't say anything, just nods tersely. Leto picks up her whip and lashes it once, the cracking sound echoing into the Cornucopia's hollow darkness. "Let's show them what the Careers are made of."

 _Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M_

There's not much to do except keep our supply of food stocked. I stand in the water with my pants rolled up, watching for any signs of fish or eels. The stick I sharpened isn't as fancy as the metal ones we used in training, but it gets the job done. Our fishing net is lying on the sand, so far not useful. The fish are small enough to swim right through the open spaces.

I hear a small splash to my left, and I focus in on the small gray shadow beneath the water. I raise my wooden spear, take aim… and I erupt into a coughing fit. The strength of it almost takes away my vision, and I'm left gasping for a few moments afterward. I glance at the blood that I coughed up into my palm and lean down to wash it off in the water. Maybe the blood will attract some sort of carnivorous fish that I can catch.

"Are you alright?"

I turn to see Flux standing onshore, her curly brown hair a mess on her head. I thought I had reached my lowest point in personal hygiene after Pa's injury when we had no money for soap or clothes, but life in Seven has nothing on the Hunger Games. I remember brushing our Sparrow's long black hair to try and get out the knots, and I suppress a smile.

"I'm fine," I say, but not without a small cough. "Your smell is making me cough."

Flux raises an eyebrow, a hand on her hip. "Whatever. I think we need to talk about our next move."

"What move?" I ask, wading through the water to get closer to her. "We can't just leave Thimble."

"You can't," she says matter-of-factly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're sort of dying."

"We all have that in common then."  
Flux ignores me. "I should head out to try and find us some water. We'll all die without it, and it's the best thing I can do to help Thimble. He's going to want some good news, stuck down there like that."

I don't doubt Thimble would be pleased to hear they've found water, but I do doubt Flux's sincerity. She's probably thinking more about her own survival now that Thimble is stuck and I'm off my medication. Still, I know she cares about Thimble. I've seen the way they look at each other and the way they make easy conversation despite Thimble's closed-off veneer. She's brought him out of his shell more and more since I've known them.

Flux sighs at my silence and crosses her arms. Maybe I'm being too harsh on her. She might just feel stir-crazy and want to do something to help the group in any way she can. And she's not wrong that it would be unwise for me to stray too far from our new homebase. The coughing fits and the sudden fatigue would make me an easily locatable and slow target.

"Alright," I say gruffly. "Just don't stray too far, and don't lose your path. Maybe you should mark your way with the net. It's useful in trying to catch these fish." I gesture toward it, lying sadly on the beach.

"And lead other tributes right to you and Thimble?" Flux asks incredulously. "No way. I have my hatchet, and I can take care of myself."

I shrug, trying not to show my worry. If Flux gets lost in the wilderness on her own, it will take more than a hatchet to find her way back. "Suit yourself."

I hear another splash not far away. I immediately put a finger to my lips before Flux can say anything more, and raise my spear. I bring it down with ferocity, and then raise it with the squirming fish on the tip. "That's what I'm talking about!" I whoop, perhaps slightly too loudly. I slip the fish off the spear and hold it up proudly to Flux's amused face. "That training wasn't useless after all."

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

After gorging myself on fruit last night, I spent the final hours of daylight wandering around my new home, marveling at the immense architecture. There are even sculptures placed on either side of the structure, their faces mostly chipped and faded, but the white bodies still gorgeously sculpted. Even a cultist could appreciate the beauty of the artwork.

Of course, this wasn't really artwork, but the design of a Gamemaker who liked marble sculptures. No true artistry was behind the sculptures.

I spend most of today doing the same things, revelling in my food supply, drinking crystal clear waters from the streams, wondering at the colorful flowers, and examining the handiwork of the sculptures. Near the front of the massive structure, I find a few whose faces are still intact. They look familiar, but I don't immediately recognize any but one. He's standing at the head of the other sculptures, just a tad taller than the others. I shiver to see President Snow's face set in stone. It's unsettling to be reminded that he is watching everything I do. At least before I could remember the literal distance between the arena and the Capitol, but now his visage haunts my every step.

I leave the sculptures in favor of returning to the lush gardens, brimming with fruit. I pluck a peach from a nearby tree and plop on the grass, munching mindlessly. Could this entire place be an elaborate trap? It wouldn't be the first time the Gamemakers have lured in a tribute with false promises of food and safety. I recall the cabin from last year's Games, which gave horrible visions to Filly, the girl from Ten, until she slowly went insane. I pull my knees up to my chest and glance around the paradise with distrust. The trees seem non-threatening, the massive marble columns seem sturdy, and the statues seem just that- statues. But who's to say that the likeness of Snow isn't a warning? Or did the Gamemakers think that his face would have a calming effect, reassuring the tributes that this place is safe? One can never know with Capitolites and their strange ways of seeing the world.

Determined to find an answer, I cautiously creep to the Snow statue, past the rows of trees and sculptures, white columns and mounds of fallen stone. A giant head of a destroyed statue stares as I walk. Snow is holding some kind of stave in one hand, a small winged female figure in the other. An eagle is sitting beside him with its beak open and wings spread. Snow's face is carved into a marble frown. I gulp as I walk around the statue, looking around for any trap tiles on the marble floor, or something on the statue that could mean trouble.

I move all the way around until I reach the little figurine that Snow is holding, a little woman with wings. She is also holding something: a small little cup filled with what looks like water. There's a little inscription beneath the cup. I cock my head as I move closer to it cautiously, squinting my eyes to read the little letters.

 _Nectar of the gods_

 _To spread through the veins_

 _Human blood is lost_

 _Gold imbued is its bane_

I reread the cryptic rhyme several times, but it seems more indecipherable everytime. I huff in frustration. More Gamemaker nonsense.

I lean up to look into the little woman's cup again. The liquid has a faint golden hue that I didn't notice before. I reach up to touch the little cup and it gently moves out of place. Amazed, I lift it gently and realize its removable from the little woman's arm. I glance over at Snow's face nervously, setting the little cup back in place. I hurry back over to the gardens. I don't like being where that fake-Snow can see me. At least if I stay away I can pretend that he can't see me.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F_

I twirl my baton as we leave the Cornucopia, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement at the edge of the forest. I skip through the grass, listening to the sounds of bugs chirping and revelling in the feeling of sun on my face. Whenever I used to feel out of control back in Four, Gaia and I would go out to the beach and sun-bathe. It helped keep us tan and attractive, and the sun kept me grounded.

"We need to focus," Leto says sharply.

I stop skipping and shoot her a glare. I push a golden curl behind my ear, spinning my baton lazily. " _You_ need to loosen up. We're going to go kill some cowardly kids! You aren't excited?"  
"I'm more determined to defeat those who shamed our districts," Leto says nobly.

Deep down I know she's partially right, but a mist shrouds my mind, separating it from reality. I shouldn't let the mist overtake me, but it's hard without Gaia here to ground me or Reggie to kiss me better. I focus on the golden sunlight that floods my skin, tilting my face up to it.

"Your form is all wrong," Passion quips.

I open my eyes and squint over at her. She stands with her hand on her hip, black hair loose around her shoulders and blowing in the wind. I grin a little at the thought of her pale skin being permanently marred by sun damage. "What do you mean?" I ask innocently, twirling on my feet again.

Passion scoffs, rolling her green eyes. "Footwork is the most important part of dancing, just like fighting," she snaps. "If the trainers in Four knew how to fight, you would know that."

"Girls, let's try and not snap at each other for twelve hours," Leto says tiredly. "We need to focus on the hunt."

I smile and jerk my head toward Leto. "What she said, Mavros. How about when we find a tribute, I'll bunt them over to you with my baton and you can smash them with your mace?"

Passion's face is purposefully blank.

"That's what I thought. You wouldn't let me kill that stupid cow because you've gone soft," I taunt. "Maybe you wouldn't have if you actually went to training and didn't have your parents pay for your spot in the Games."

Passion's eyes flash, and her hand tightens on her mace hilt. "Shut up before I smash _you_!" she hisses.

"Stop it, both of you," Leto warns, halting her pace. Her ponytail bounces as her sharp eyes look back and forth between us. "Marlowe, stop goading Passion. Passion, stop taking the bait."

"I'm not a fish for you to reel in, fish bitch," Passion says.

I roll my eyes and continue skipping toward the trees. I can feel the bloodlust singing in my veins. The golden Cornucopia guarded by Cyprian watches us from behind, and the eyes of the trees anticipate our advance. I can just imagine the terrified tributes clinging to their trees in fear. I grin in mirth.

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

Raven and I bring Thimble the fish that he caught, skinned to the best of our ability. I peer over the cliff, swallowing down the lump in my throat at the sight of my district partner curled up on a rock. "Thimble!" I call down softly. "We brought you some fish!"

He looks up blearily, blocking out the sun with a hand. He shivers as he stands on unsteady feet. "The monster will eat it," he says weakly.

"It's raw anyway," Raven says with slight disgust. We still don't have any means to make fire.

"Don't call it a monster," I tell Thimble, ignoring Raven. "It's just a bird or something. I'll toss it down to you."

"Just keep it for yourself," Thimble says, sitting back down with his legs around his legs. "I'm going to die down here anyway."

I don't respond, the only sound is the gentle waves from below and the swirling vortex underneath Thimble's little outcropping of rock.

Raven gently takes the fish from me with a sigh. "You have to stay positive Thimble. Think about everyone in Eight ready for a second victor this year." They are empty words, but Thimble glances up at us nonetheless.

"That's right," I say in encouragement. "We have to stay strong for Eight. Listen, we need water in order to keep going." I hope he can pick up on the real meaning behind my words. Even if he doesn't survive, Raven and I will need water eventually. "I'm going to leave tomorrow morning to go look for some. I'll be back as soon as I find it."

Thimble looks up at me with dim eyes. "Where are you going to look? Just farther along the coast?" After I nod, he sighs and hangs his head. "You're not going to find anything. You know what you need to do."

I raise an eyebrow. Thimble's eyes wander over the sea, to the horizon, where the mysterious island sits in the distance. He turns back to me with an intense gaze.

I gulp, suddenly blinking back tears. We both know that it will take days to go to the island and back. By the time I return, Thimble will either be dead or on the verge of death. Unless he can find a way off of the cliff, he'll die from dehydration without any food to provide hydration.

Beside me, Raven bites into the raw fish, grimacing at the taste. "Apparently this is a delicacy in the Capitol," he says with disgust, then looks over to me. "You have to do what you have to do," he says, surprisingly solemn. "I'll keep Thimble company. He'll be begging to die after being alone with me for a few days."

Thimble huffs down beneath us, and I chuckle, wiping away the tears from my face. When did I get so sentimental? I haven't even known Thimble for two weeks, but we've been through more together than most people go through in their entire lives. I would do anything to save his life.

"There might be a way to help Thimble on the island," I say fiercely.

"There's no way out unless we kill this monster," Thimble says gruffly. He tosses a pebble in the air to incite the creature. It springs forth from its hiding spot above him, snatching at the pebble with ferocity, its three heads snapping at each other for ownership over the rock. They retreat back into their cave just as quickly.

"Then I'll find it," I say in determination.

Thimble doesn't look convinced, but it's not time to give up. I've been saying we should try to lower the net down for him to grab and hoist him upward, but he's too afraid of the monster. The trap seems impossible to escape.

"I'll help you build a raft with some of this driftwood," Raven says, gesturing toward the shore. "Then you can set out on your adventure while we're stuck here."

I feel a lump rise in my throat. I'm lucky to have Raven and Thimble in this horrible game.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

After seeing those tributes yesterday, I've decided to stay in the trees for most of the day. The berry tree is difficult to climb and I'm practically covered in smashed berries by the time I reach the middle of the branches, but at least I'm hidden. I faintly hear birds singing in the distance, even the scream of a fox or some other larger predator. I draw swirls in juice on my arms, dreamily imagining what those birds must feel like as they drift through the treetops. Of course, they're stuck in here just like I am, but they don't know it. I wonder what the Gamemakers will do with these animals when the Games are over. Surely they must release them back into the wild, or maybe they will just live here forever. Within a few years, this arena will be open for Capitolite tourists, and they will need a complete environment with animals and plants. I smile faintly as I watch a small bird flutter above the treetops through the leaves. At least these little animals will live out happy lives in this place.

A twig breaks loudly and echoes throughout the forest. I snap back into reality in a split second, resisting the urge to slip back into the hazy warmth of my mind.

A second snap keeps me alert. I stay perfectly still on my tree branch. I can only hope that if there is a tribute nearby, my disguise will camoflauge me. My supplies are on a branch beside me. The mirror that the sponsors sent to me is sitting loose on the bark, reflecting light into a leaf above it. A trap made from my wire is set up a few meters away, where I saw some shrew creatures crawling around yesterday.

I hold my breath as sounds of rustling leaves draw closer. I don't know whether to wish that it's a tribute or an animal. Strange noises of something whistling through the air reaches my ears. I swallow nervously, clinging to the tree trunk.

"Hold up," a female voice says, and I feel my eyes start to tear up from fear. I recognize that voice having spent hours listening to it during training. It's the girl from Four, Marlowe.

"What is it?" another responds. I know this one too: Leto from Two.

"Do you see that?"

Someone walks toward Marlowe's voice. There is no response, and no more noises. I try to control my breathing so they can't hear me. Should I try the same thing I did last time? This isn't the same group of tributes that came near my tree last time. These are the Careers. I could try and mimic one of their allies calling for help, but I don't know who all is here. Maybe I should growl at them like I did to the other tributes.

"Aha!" Marlowe suddenly yells. "Got it!"

Leto laughs, and the girl from One, Passion, snorts. "What the hell is that?"

"Who knows." Marlowe almost sounds disgusted. "Some sort of weasel thing. We should take its blood and smear on our faces like warpaint."

"That's revolting," Passion scoffs.

"It scares the tributes," Marlowe says smugly. "But I guess blood isn't in style this season, huh?"  
"Stop," Leto says sharply, but continues with a practiced mediated tone. "Marlowe, you must be thinking of Ripley Trenton. I remember that too. You can do that if the blood if you like, but don't expect Passion and I to follow suit."

I remember Ripley as well, a famous runner-up tribute from Four who was in the Games over a decade ago. He's mostly remembered for painting his face and body with the blood of his victims, but I also vividly recall seeing highlights from those Games of him torturing an opponent by keeping him alive all day, slicing open every vein and carving words into his skin.

The Careers' conversation continues and they walk away, their words becoming more and more faint. I sigh in relief, slumping against the tree. A small bird lands on the branch above my head, twittering sweetly. I smile and reach up just in case she'll let me stroke her with a finger, but she flies away.

This part of the forest is too trafficked. Even though this tree is a fine source of food and hydration, I can't stay here forever. At some point, one of the tributes will notice me, and some imitation won't always fool them. It might be time to leave my tree. It's best to keep moving during the Hunger Games, anyway.

I pack up my things as silently as I can, listening for the Careers. After not hearing anything for over half an hour, the sun starts to set. I climb out of the tree to undo my animal trap, carefully respooling my wire. I pack my empty canteen full of berries, then stand still as I try to decide where I should go. Inexplicably, I feel a pull toward the Cornucopia. With at least three Careers gone, there should be only one left at the golden horn. I don't plan to steal anything, but it's good to keep an eye on your enemy. I slowly start to move in that direction with determination, my skin painted in my own purple berry blood.

 _Volt Halvorsson (18)- D5M_

It was easy to convince Logan and Pagani to wait one more day for our attack. We'll need to observe their patrol patterns before we make our attack, I reasoned. Pagani was reluctant to let me go alone, so I sent her to the edge of the forest to look out for any returning Careers. That leaves me alone by the usual tree, waiting for Cyprian to take notice of me. I first saw him on his short round around the Cornucopia. He seems to be alone here.

It was lucky I managed to draw Pagani and Logan to my side; Cyprian is the only Career at the Cornucopia right now. If Logan and Pagani had come with me to spy on the golden horn, they would have wanted to kill him and wait for the others to return. But that won't do… I have need of Cyprian. He's the best fighter in the arena. I saw that much in training when I first hatched my plan. Killing him jus won't work. But if I can get him to kill off the rest of our competition… then I'll have a real chance at winning. I would never win a fight against any of the Careers. I've always had to rely on my brain and my charm. The Games are no different. Luckily, if my plan works to kill the rest of the Careers, Cyprian and I will manage to do the same with Pagani and Logan.

The full moon is the only thing watching as Cyprian rotates around the supplies, faithfully keeping an eye out for enemies. The moon seems to have been full ever since we arrived in the arena. The unnaturalness of it reminds me of where we are.

Cyprian eventually sees me and immediately comes rushing over. His copper hair is illuminated in the moonlight, his face lit up with hopefulness. "Volt?" he whispers into the night once he's a few meters away.

"It's me," I say evenly back. He closes the distance between us with a pleased sigh. He searches my face for something- maybe any signs of sadness of hunger, then kisses me.

"Volt," he sighs. "Where have you been? I've been waiting for you." His green eyes are full of sincerity.

"We've had some roadblocks," I say with a smile. "Did you know there's a dragon northwest of here?"

Judging by his shocked expression, he didn't know. "A… dragon?"

"Well, I'm sure we'll be able to take it down together," I say, not missing the brightness my words alight in his eyes. "It's guarding the water supply. We haven't been able to find any other source."

"Oh!" Cyprian reaches to his belt and unclasps two canteens of water. "Take these. And-" He produces food out of thin air as well. "This. I don't need them anyway."

"Thank you, Cyprian," I say quietly. "You've been single handedly keeping us alive, you know."

He looks pained at the thought. "Volt…"

"I have something for you as well," I interrupt. I pull out the hat that our group nabbed from the Cornucopia, unraveling it to reveal the azalea I gathered in the forest the other day. It's been wrapped up in it ever since, and is a little shriveled, but its effects will still be just as potent.

Cyprian watches me with wide eyes, taking the pink flower gingerly. "What is that?'

"It's called azalea. It's a poisonous flower found in mediterranean climates."

"Why are you giving it to me?" he asks quietly, but he's smart. I can see the realization dawning on his face.

"It's the only way we can be together," I beseech him. "You know that if you leave, the Careers will come after you. They'll never rest until we're both dead."

Volt swallows hard. "I can't kill Leto," he whispers. "She's my friend."

"Is she more important than me?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Does she love you, Volt? She would kill you in a second if you were the only ones left in the arena."

His silence is telling. He examines the flower carefully. "How would I… do this?"

I curl his hand over the flowers with my own. "The nectar is the key. Crush up the petals and swirl them into some water or something, or mix it in with their food. Even the slightest amount of nectar will make the strongest person sick, and enough will kill them. Just make sure to act sick as well so they don't suspect you. I'll be back tomorrow night. Then we can finish them if they aren't already dead."

Volt stares at me in shock. For a moment I wonder if I shouldn't have dumped so much information on him at once. I should have known he would need a lighter tough. Just as I expect him to uncurl his fingers and give me the azalea, he slowly places it into his small pack.

"I won't let you down," he says quietly.

He doesn't sound as sure as he says. I place my other hand on his shoulder. "I love you, Cyprian. I just want us to be together."

"I know," he whispers. "I love you too."

I give him a kiss, hoping the cameras are picking it up.

* * *

No deaths this chapter, but I'll post the statistics anyway in case anyone has forgotten:

Kill Stats:

Tied for Most Kills:

Passion Mavros (17)- D1F- two kills: Sparrow and Alder

Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M- two kills: Caiden and Jeremy

Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M (dead)- two kills: Dylan and Rylex.

Tied for Second-Most Kills:

Leto Larston (18)- D2F- one kill: Rai.

Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F- one kill: Terra.

Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F- one kill: Callum.

 **Leave a** **review** **if you enjoyed the chapter! Tell me your** **predictions,** **your favorite tributes, your favorite moments! What do you think of Volt and Cyprian's plan? What about Flux's planned journey and Thimble's predicament? What about Blossom's paradise?**

 **I hope everyone has a great week!**


	32. Day Six: Playing Dangerous

**Hey everyone! I hope you're all having a good week. This chapter is spawned from my writing kick recently and my avoidance of schoolwork. I hope you enjoy it! Special thanks to MaxMan667 for proofreading this chapter and the previous one.**

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 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

Pagani and Volt come back from the Cornucopia in the early morning with happy faces and hands full of food and water. When I see the canteens and baggies of food, I cross my arms and give them my best disappointed glare.

"The plan was to just _watch_ the Careers," I chastise Pagani.

Pagani snorts and jabbed a finger toward Volt with a smirk. "He's the one that found it. At least now we have water to get us through the day."

"The boy from Two dropped it during his rounds," Volt says cheerfully, handing me the canteen of water. I sigh and hesitate to drink for a moment, but my thirst overcomes me. I take a swig and exhale at the relief after days without water. Our supply of dried jerky only served to make my throat more dry since we ran out of water. Logan silently gives me dried cranberries from his new stash, and I take them gratefully.

"Did anyone see you?" I ask.

"No one," Volt confirms. "The only one I could see was the boy from Two. He made a few patrols around the perimeter, but spent most of his time guarding the supplies. The others must have been sleeping inside the Cornucopia."

I hum thoughtfully, staring up at the rising sun. The grasses of the rolling hills blow in the gentle breeze. A few butterflies flutter nearby. The peaceful surroundings contrast with our macabre conversation. "If they only leave one person on guard duty, then Pagani's plan might work. We sneak up on them together; kill them quickly and silently. Then we'll need to take on the remaining three."

"It will be easy," Pagani says easily. "We can kill them in their sleep."

"We need to plan for the worst, though," I emphasize. "What if the guard yells that someone is there before we kill them? Then we'll have to fight all three of them together."

"That won't happen," Volt says confidently. He sits on the ground beside me and sighs, reclining back. "Relax, Logan. The best way to prepare for something like this is to stay calm."

Volt never seems concerned about anything, and I'm not sure if it's because he's delusional or level headed. I haven't forgotten the times when my own unstable emotions got the better of me back in Six. I take a deep breath and push away my anxieties. "You're right. Maybe we should spend some time practicing our fighting skills."

"I'll do that with you," Pagani says immediately. I look up at her and smile, standing again and grabbing my sword. Volt is the one that really needs to practice, but he once again doesn't seem worried. Pagani takes out her knife and raises an eyebrow playfully. I raise my sword and grin back.

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

The hunt is unsuccessful this time. I try not to let it get to my head. Not every hunt will be like our previous one, where we killed Jeremy and his little friend. That was a triumph for us, but we have to have failures in order to know when we've won. Marlowe doesn't seem to think the same way. After covering her face in the blood of the creature she caught, she had gone quiet and stalked through the woods carefully, like a predator hunting its prey, and grew more frustrated by the hour. Passion, on the other hand, seems preoccupied. Her eyes are unfocused even now as we head back toward the Cornucopia, our hands clean of blood. Except for Marlowe, who is still slathered with it.

Cyprian is waiting for us back at the mouth of the horn, his eyes alert as ever. He welcomes us back with a stern nod of the head. He doesn't ask if we saw anyone; if we did, we wouldn't be here, we would be chasing them with weapons in our hands. The night empty of cannon shots still feels like a failure, but I console myself with the fact that we're only five days into this game. There are still plenty of chances left for bloodshed.

"Anything interesting happen while we were gone?" I ask him as I sit on a trunk and take a drink of water.

"Nothing," he says, staring off into the distance.

"Give me some water," Passion snaps suddenly, a hand on her hip. Cyprian wordlessly reaches into a trunk beside him and hands her a canteen. Passion snatches it from his hand and drinks with gusto.

Marlowe comes over to our trunk of water and peers inside. "We're low," she says with distaste. "We had more bottles than this before we left. What happened?" She looks to Cyprian.

Cyprian doesn't say anything for a moment, perhaps rendered speechless by her mask of blood. "I drank some while you were gone," he says finally.

"A whole bottle or two?" she says incredulously. "You didn't do anything but sit here."

"Marlowe, stop," I say tiredly. The bickering is starting to get on my nerves. Why did Cyprian and I have to be put in the arena with a bunch of mindless chatterboxes?

She glances at me with an eyebrow raised, but just stands back up and sighs. Some of the blood has seeped into the golden roots of her hair. It's a strangely cathartic sight, seeing her beauty marred by the gore. "Whatever. Can I have some cranberries then?"

"I ate all of the cranberries," Cyprian says without missing a beat.

Marlowe throws her hands up in the air with a laugh. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want us to run out of food within a week?"

I stand, fixing Marlowe with my best glare. "Speak nicely," I tell her sharply. "If you wanted him to save you some cranberries, you should have told him."

"There's no way he could have eaten that many in one night," Marlowe says dismissively. "This guy is trying to cheat us by hiding our food! Is that what you're doing? Trying to stock up for later after we're all dead?"

"Stop it-"

"The fish bitch is right," Passion interrupts casually, jabbing a finger at Cyprian. "He's too calm. And _you're_ the only one who is defending him."

"I'm defending him because he didn't do anything wrong!" I explode, my fists curling. "We're supposed to be a team, and you two keep tearing us all apart!"  
"Leto," Cyprian says softly. His face is soft, almost guilty. I quiet down immediately.

"I'm sorry I ate all the cranberries," he says in a measured voice. "I'll try not t o eat so much from now on."

Marloew just huffs and walks away, hopefully to clean off her face. Passion shrugs and sits in the grass, chugging her water. I turn to Cyprian and give him a small smile. "You had nothing to apologize for."

He looks down and grunts, not saying another word.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

The worst part of being stuck down here in the loneliness. While Raven and Flux are preparing for Flux's journey to the island, I'm all alone on my precipice, shivering and trying not to let the hunger or the thirst get to me. Already I can feel something that must be severe dehydration overcoming me. I've gone this long without food before, but not without water. My throat is past dry, and my eyes are blurring every now and then. It's hard to see Flux when she leans over the cliff to talk to me.

"How're you doing down there?" she yells down.

"Don't be so loud," I say weakly. "Someone could hear."

"Then I'll kill them!" Flux says with a smile. I huff and don't answer. I need to save my strength.

"Hold on down there, alright?" Flux says. I can make out the worried tone in her voice even in my delirious state.

"I'm doing my best," I say in amusement. I lay back on the ground so I can see her better without straining my neck. It's strange to think that I probably will never touch her or anyone else again. The last time I laid down beside my friends at night to sleep will likely be the last time I will feel anything but harsh rock and the steel of my machete, whose sharp gleam and edge seems more and more inviting as time passes.

"Listen, Flux," I say, my throat sore and scratchy. I try to swallow and continue. "If I die, I want you to win. We have to do it for District Eight pride. We won last year, and we can do it again."

Flux's face is blank, but I know she understands the essence of my words. I don't care about honor or our district's reputation, but I do care about my old coworkers back home. Flux's family. Rita's face swims in my vision, her concerned expression as she handed me the locket with my parents' picture inside. I clutch the locket around my neck. If I don't survive, I want everyone in Eight to have the benefits of a victor for another year. The extra food from this past year had taken some stress off of many families back home.

Not only that, but Flux is my friend. The closest friend I've had in years. I didn't expect to develop a bond with anyone in this godforsaken place… but maybe it's exactly what I needed. To be stuck with someone with no choice but to rely on each other.

"Do you remember when we first met?" I ask her with a weak smile.

She smiles back with a laugh. "Yeah, I remember. I thought you were homeless."

"You didn't ask to be allies; you _told_ me," I chuckle. I think about some of our less funny conversations, such as when I said I worked at the Red. Flux must know what that means, what I am, but she's never judged me for it.

I can hear Raven dragging around driftwood in the background, drawing me back to reality. "Thimble, don't give up," Flux says suddenly, her voice fierce. "How about you get up out of there and win yourself, huh?"

I smirk up at her, sighing. "I wish I was as strong as you, Flux."

Her own grin falters, but just for a moment. She leaves abruptly, but I'm grateful. I hate goodbyes, and I have a feeling we might be saying our last one soon.

 _Luna Everett (12)- D11F_

Thorn and I rested on the beach last night, but in the morning our heads were clearer than they've been in a long time. We ate the last of our food, then caught some more fish using our spears. We decide to keep moving instead of staying in one place any longer. We never know when the Careers or any other tributes will come along.

I take a swig of water as we walk along the sealine. My shoes are filled with sand, my hair crusty. When I pull it up to my nose, it stinks. Thorn sees my grimace and laughs open-mouthed at me, running a hand through his own dirty locks.

Not long after, we stop for lunch. I gather some water to boil while Thorn fishes with his spear. The sun is hot on our backs but the water is pleasantly cool. I use our fire-making kit to create a fire without Thorn's help, much to my pleasure. Thorn comes onto the beach with two wriggling fish and a grin. He throws one of them at me and it flops onto the ground. I frown as I watch the fish gasp for water, its tail flapping wildly. The eyes become glassy not long after, the body stilling.

"What is it?' Thorn asks, already skinning his own fish.

I wince as I pick up the fish and gingerly begin to skin it. "Sorry… I just don't like to see them in pain."

Thorn snorts. "We're in the Hunger Games, Luna. We're surrounded by death."

For a moment, it seems like we're returning back to our petty arguments about death, but then he glances over at me and sighs. "Sorry," he says, like the words physically hurt to say. "I'll shut up."

I give him a small smile. "Don't shut up. I just want to know… do you really think death is that funny?"

Thorn looks up from his fish in surprise. He shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. "Uh… I guess… not." He looks like he's in pain. "I just like to write stories about it."

"Stories?" I ask with interest.

He laughs. "Yeah… some would call me a compulsive writer."  
I lean forward. "What kinds of stories? I love to read."

"Oh…" Thorn is taken aback. I've never seen him flustered before. His perfect confidence and practiced disinterest is broken for just a moment, before he gathers it back up with a charismatic grin. "You're not mature enough to understand them."

I raise an eyebrow at him with a glare, and he throws his head back with a laugh. "You wouldn't be interested in them," he says, sounding genuine for once. "I just write about my life. My thoughts." He spears his fish onto a stick, placing it over the fire. He grabs his spear and begins drawing shapes into the sand. His eyes are hooded, gazing into the fire. I watch as the smoke rises above us. We're going to need to put it out soon, even if our fish aren't finished cooking. Soon, we'll be back in the forest, where Thorn thinks we'll be safest.

"The fish might have lived a long, happy fish life with his family," Thorn says abruptly. "Until some god came along. The shadow loomed above him, a terrible weapon in its hand and the fish wondered what he had done to deserve such a horrible fate… He was speared through. His blood stained the water, his family, his little fish children, and they wondered why he was the one to be taken. But it didn't matter to the gods which fish was taken. It was just random."

I don't realize there are tears in my eyes until Thorn finishes. I manage to hold them back, and we both stare into the fire in silence.

 _Blossom Urakaka (15)- D9F_

I decide I should make some extra staffs for emergencies, so I spend some time gathering fallen sticks and sharpening them. I keep an eye on the Snow statue at the front of the building as I work. I munch on an apple at noon, as the sun blazes down on me from above. The marble ceiling is mostly collapsed, leaving it open to the sky. I lay back and stare up at the sun, trying not to look at it directly. The cult always said that if you stared right at the sun, you would see his true form and he would blind you for your insolence. The tattoo on my back itches. I'm glad the arena outfit covers my back completely. I don't want the Capitol to constantly see my branding.

After midday, I decide to head outside of the chamber onto the mountainside. I stand in the grass, the wind blowing my red hair past my shoulders, trying to see past the clouds that block my view. The Gamemakers' clouds that surround the peak of the mountain keep me hidden from other tributes down below, which I'm grateful for. But the mountain's mystery might mean that other tributes will be curious enough to climb it, just like I did. I can't let my guard down.

I reenter the marble architecture and gather some more fruits and water. The streams of crystal clear water are delicious and smooth, better than any water I've ever had, even back home in Nine. Capitol water might be a close second.

I gaze around my paradise. How am I going to protect it from invading Careers? Even another outer district tribute will be difficult to fight if they have a real weapon. I'm confident in my skills with a staff, but I need a backup plan in case I'm ambushed.

"I know how to keep people out," I say to myself quietly. I haven't spoken in so long that my voice is hoarse and croaky. I lean down and pull my rope from the ground, and I peer around at all of the sharp sticks I've made. I can do something with this. I can survive. Even if this is a Gamemaker trick, I will survive. I glance over at the Snow statue, the riddle echoing in my head. I still don't know what it means, but maybe if I avoid the statue, I won't set off any traps. Instead, I'll set my own.

 _Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_

I crouch down to avoid Logan's sword, lunging at his knees with my knife. He jumps back and swings down onto my back. I roll away and bounce back to my feet, a grin on my face. Logan stares at me a few feet away, tightening his fingers around his sword hilt. I advance forward suddenly, taking him off guard and making him dodge to the side with a surprised expression. I jab forward with my knife, the blade slicing through the air with whistling noises. Logan continues to step back until I finally let up, letting him get a sword swing in before rolling away.

"We should stop for now," Logan says, panting. He lets the tip of his blade fall to press into the grass. "We don't want to get hurt while training."

"Alright," I say with a grin. The adrenaline in my veins from the fight and from the anticipation of the real battle tonight. I can feel it in the tips of my fingers, the soles of my feet, the blush on my cheeks from exertion. I'm ready to show those Careers that they aren't the only ones who can win the Games. Six is coming for them.

Volt is sitting in the grass, chowing down on some cranberries and scanning the horizon for any danger. I sit down beside him, trying to catch my breath, and take a swig of water. Even though Logan didn't approve, I'm glad Volt managed to steal some food and water last night. We'll need our strength for the fight tonight.

"Maybe you could practice a little bit with Logan's sword," I tell him. "Once we get there, you can pick up a weapon and help us fight."

"I won't need to help you," Volt says, sounding unconcerned. His icy blue eyes turn to me with a small assertive nod. "You and Logan are plenty skilled enough to defeat our enemies. I have other callings."

I shrug. "Suit yourself, I guess. But if one of us gets in trouble, you better grab a blade and help." Volt's confidence and easy aura is infectious, not to mention a nice reprieve from our situation, but I don't doubt he would run if he saw the tables turning against us.

"Of course," Volt says cheerfully. He offers me the bag of cranberries, and I take a handful gratefully. I grab a piece of jerky from our other baggie, and settle in for a nice lunch. Logan sits down on Volt's other side with a chunk of bread, accepting some cranberries from Volt. His eyebrows are drawn together, his eyes unfocused and worried. I resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. Logan is too dramatic. Tonight will be a difficult battle, but we'll be victorious. There's no reason to worry.

As Volt stares in the direction of the Cornucopia, I scan the forest to the west. The leaves of the trees gently blow in the breeze. I see no visible tributes, but who knows who could be watching, planning their own attack. After today, we'll be the ones at the Cornucopia, and all the other tributes will cower beneath us.

"We have to do this for Dylan. And Terra, and Rylex." Logan speaks suddenly, his words sounding too loud in the quietness of the prairie. He lowers his head, falling silent again. I remember Terra that day in the bloodbath. She died to save me, letting the girl from Four slice open her throat and kill her on that bloody battlefield. The same battlefield on which we'll get our revenge.

"You're right," I say bitterly. "Let me have the girl from Four if you can, okay?"  
Logan looks up to nod solemnly, then looks up to stare at the sky.

My thoughts stray from Terra, back to District Six, like a track leading me back in time. Back to the real world. My brother Wench's face swims in my vision. My mother, Mary, all the other street rats that I've met in my time living on the streets. My father, who will never get to live an easy life if I win the Games. I have to do it for all of them, departed or not. Those Careers are fighting for themselves, but we're doing it for our families, our districts. We will win.

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

After leaving my tree last night, I traveled for a few hours before making a camp for the night. I found a tall tree and laid out my sleeping bag on a stable branch, tying parts of it to the trunk with wire. Then I ate some of my berries and fell asleep. This morning, I woke to sounds of rustling below me, and held my breath until I realized it was just a fox. I waited until the creature left, then carefully climbed down and continued on my way. I don't exactly know why I'm headed toward the Cornucopia, but I just want to see if there are any supplies left. And maybe to see what the Careers are doing. I try not to think too hard about what I might do if I find a Career alone, guarding the golden horn. If I start planning a trap to set for them, then I'll be admitting to myself that I have to kill people to get out of this place.

I keep my steps soft and slow as I wander through the forest, keeping my eyes on the sun to walk in the right direction. I twirl my mirror in my hand, watching as the sunlight reflects off of it onto the ground and the underside of the forest canopy. It's starting to get dark, and I won't be able to use the mirror soon for any tricks or traps. I'll have to wait until tomorrow. If I decide to do anything, I quickly add on inside my head.

By the time I can see the forest's edge, the sun is setting and the forest is nearly completely dark under the foliage. I try to breath quietly and evenly, carefully planning out each footstep. I crack a stick under my foot and wince, waiting a minute before continuing. I keep listening for any sounds of Careers, but there's only the sounds of the insects and the breeze blowing through the leaves. I silently walk up to the edge of the trees, peering around. The Cornucopia is visible, not as magnificent after the sun has set. There's only a light glint from the fake moonlight reflecting off its surface. I stay in place for several minutes, waiting for any signs of danger. My stomach rumbles loudly, and I place a hand over it with a sigh.

Suddenly, I see movement in the distance. It looks like a figure, walking toward me along the edge of the forest. I quickly fade back into the trees, breathing heavily. I glance around to try and find a stick that I could use as a weapon, but it's too dark to see the ground under the trees.

"Volt?" A hissing voice reaches my ears.

I freeze, trying to calm my breath.

A moment passes, and I hear someone rustling in the grass. "Volt? Is that you?"

I remember Volt. His voice is easy to imitate. His cadence, his tone, his vocabulary is all typical of an arrogant, intelligent young man. I clear my throat and respond in his voice, "Yes."

The boy, shrouded in darkness, sighs in relief. "I thought I heard you. Why are you here?"

I don't answer, heart beating fast. I don't know how to respond, but it seems he's waiting patiently for an answer. I recognize his voice: it's Cyprian, the only remaining male Career. If he and Volt are allies, then I can easily escape if I say the right thing.

"Volt?" Cyprian sounds pitiful. "Should I come to you?"

"No!" I hiss quickly, Volt's voice slipping off my tongue in my panic.

Cyprian doesn't notice. "You're right. They could see," he says with a heavy sigh. "I'm just glad to talk to you."

"Me too," I say, Volt's voice issues from my mouth again.

"Is there a reason that you're here?" Cyprian asks, sounding hopeful.

I struggle to find words, then answer, "Yes…"

"Is the plan off?" Cyprian eagerly cuts me off.

I should just say whatever he wants, so he'll let me go. "Yes."

Cyprian sighs in relief. "Thank god. I couldn't kill my allies, Volt. Even if they come after us, I'll protect you." He stops for a moment, then earnestly asks, "Can I come with you now?"

"No," I say firmly.

"Alright," he says, sounding disappointed. "Will you still come here tomorrow? I want to leave with you, Volt."

"We'll leave together tomorrow," I say, keeping my voice low and measured, reassuring.

I can sense Cyprian's joy through the foliage. "Thank you. I can't wait. I can't wait to be with you."

"Me too," I say.

"Do you need more supplies?" Cyprian asks innocently.

"Yes," I say, perhaps too quickly. "Just leave them on the ground and I'll get them when you leave."

"Okay," Cyprian whispers. I hear him placing something on the ground, then he says, "I love you, Volt."

"I love you too," I say. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Cyprian slowly walks away. I wait until his footsteps in the grass recede completely, then I quickly step forward just enough to retrieve the backpack placed on the ground. I swing it over my back and turn back to the trees.

I walk quickly, staying as silent as possible. I find a high tree to climb and scale its trunk as fast as I can, finding a secure branch to sit on and opening my new pack. I can't see my new supplies very well in the dark, but I can easily feel a canteen filled with precious water. I carefully place it back inside, resolving not to drink any of it until I'm finished with my berries. They hydrate me well enough, and they won't last like this water will. I also find a bag filled with crackers in the bag, along with a warm coat that I definitely don't need in this warm climate. The air is a little chilly at night though, so I use it. I put it on over my arena uniform and lean back against the tree trunk, feeling warmth soak into my limbs. I shake my pack once more and hear other goodies inside. I reach into it again and find a small first aid kit, just a package with some bandages and gauze, along with some basic medicinal cream.

It seems my directionless plan worked out after all. The only problem is that I'm now near the Cornucopia, where the Careers will easily be able to see me in the morning. I need to move; to get away from this place. I slowly climb out of my tree and start a new voyage through the trees.

 _Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M_

After seeing smoke at the other end of the coast, Flux and I have been on edge. We didn't tell Thimble about it. He doesn't need more stress. Still, I know Flux is having second thoughts about whether she should leave.

"Maybe I should stay, just for another day or two," Flux says as we stand on the beach, looking out over the water. It's strange to see her so unsure. Usually she's the one telling me to go with the flow.

"Thimble might not survive another couple days," I tell her knowingly.

"Thimble isn't going to survive anyway," she says, sounding hopeless. She stares out over the sea, past the raft we built, in the direction of the island. It's lit orange by the setting sun "What does it matter if I find water? We can't give him any."

"You have to keep moving forward," I say firmly. "For herself. Think about Flux, not two dead kids you spent a few days with."

Flux glances over at me with dismay. "Is that really what you think you and Thimble are to me?"

I swallow, directing my eyes to the sand. "Let's not make this emotional, alright? Let's just get on with it. No goodbyes."

Flux shifts beside me. "Sounds good to me."

Her supplies are already strapped to her raft with some net. The two of us spent all day building it with driftwood and netting, large enough to hold one young girl as she floats out to sea. Her backpack holds her hatchet, our flashlight, and the thin clear sheet that she received from the Cornucopia, as well as several fish. Thimble and I will be left with our sausages and Thimble's machete, which is down on his cliff with him.

Not that I need any weapons for myself. I have several sticks that I've used to kill fish, and I imagine killing a tribute with one would be mostly the same. Maybe even easier. Those fish can be fast.

Flux climbs onto the raft, pulling her pack close to her side and crossing her legs. I hand her two rowing sticks, and she gives me a small smile.

"Take care of yourself, Raven," she says, sounding sad.

I nod once, then gently push the raft off of the beach. It takes some effort, but eventually the tide catches her and draws her out to sea. She floats away faster than I thought she would. I watch her row until the sun slowly disappears and the moon rises. She disappears. The island is still visible by the moon, which we determined last night, and she has the flashlight for emergencies. She'll be fine. I listen to the gentle waves, wondering if she's having success in rowing.

After sitting on the beach for a few minutes, I'm suddenly overcome with a coughing fit. I'm getting tired of them at this point, especially with the feelings of faintness and weakness that come afterward. I lean over with my hands on my knees to gasp for air, wondering if this will be my poetic end, right after saying goodbye to a friend.

Then it passes as quickly as it came, leaving me wheezing and staggering on the beach. I should make my way back to Thimble. He doesn't like being alone; but I can barely walk. I slowly sink onto the sand, trembling from the violent coughs. I don't know how much time has passed before I start to hear a faint tinkling noise above me. I must be hallucinating. There's no way a sponsor would send me a gift in this state.

Then a small silver box drops onto my stomach. The parachute covers my face, and I spit it out and toss it away, eagerly opening the box. The gift is so small I almost don't notice it at first, but then I see a glint of silver in the corner. I pick it up and examine it. A small silver charm in the shape of a tree. A small note accompanies it, and I feel my heart jump into my throat when I see what's written.

 _Look kid, I am not good with words. But I want you to survive. I mean really want you to survive. And if you actually do survive, then maybe, just maybe, you and I can make something work together. Don't make me spell it out for you. I'll be seeing you, J._

Johanna shouldn't have spent sponsor money to send me this. But despite myself, I feel my despair melting away. I can make it through this. I did it for Sparrow for many weeks… and I can do it for Thimble. For Johanna.

I curl up the note in my fist and reach out to the sky with my other hand, hoping the message gets across. At least I know there is someone waiting for me back home. If I survive, I won't be alone and miserable in Seven. I'll have Johanna. I'll have a real life. I'll be able to keep Sparrow's memory alive.

 _Passion Mavros (18)- D1F_

It's nice to have an opportunity to sleep. After spending nights and days hunting, I've been looking forward to curling up in a sleeping bag in the Cornucopia. I absent-mindedly brush through my hair with my fingers, staring at the dark ceiling. I can hear Leto's even breathing not far away. Marlowe is unable to sleep, or is just unwilling. Who knows what goes on inside her fake, vapid head. Cyprian is keeping watch again, letting us sleep after a night of hunting. We'll be heading out again tomorrow, according to Leto.

Could it really hurt the Gamemakers to give us some hairbrushes? Maybe some dry shampoo? I know they have the technology to keep my flawless beauty alive without the extra steps of showers. My appearance is a big part of my image. Of course, my green eyes will still be gorgeous when they replay clips of my kills after I win, I tell myself. The best tributes are the ones who are still pretty when covered in blood and dirt. After I win, people will-

"What the hell?!"

Marlowe's voice jolts me back to alertness. Leto sits up immediately beside me, grabbing for her whip. "Let's go," she says sharply. I close my fingers around my mace hilt, just above my head. I also quickly grab two throwing axes and stick them into my belt. Then I stand and hurry out after Leto.

The scene is like a gift given unto us. Three tributes stand just a few meters away from the Cornucopia. Cyprian is standing beside them, looking nervous. "I told you not to come closer!" he says woefully. I've never heard Cyprian talk like that, or look anything other than completely confident. Marlowe is standing across from them, her baton drawn and held taut.

"What's going on here?" one of the tributes says, who I recognize as Logan from Six. His district partner, Pagani, stands beside him with a knife in hand, giving us a deadly glare. "Volt, why didn't you kill this guy?

Another tribute, Volt, steps forward. "Cyprian," he hisses. "Why aren't they _dead_!"

"You told me not to go through with it!" Cyprian says, sounding shocked.

"What are you talking about?" Leto demands, stepping forward with her whip in hand. "Cyprian, answer me!"

Cyprian wrings his hands, eyes darting back and forth from Volt to Leto. "I-I-"

"I told you he was betraying us!" I yelled, letting my mace hang heavy in my hand as I came up to stand beside Marlowe.

Leto shakes her head, as if she can't believe her eyes. "Cyprian… why?"

"Volt, let's go!" Cyprian shouts, grabbing Volt's hand and pulling him away.

Then everything happens in a flash. Marlowe snarls, "Not so fast!" and chases after them with her bladed baton twirling. Leto cracks her whip once, Pagani lunges to Marlowe with her knife, and Logan yells, "We have to get out of here!"

I raise my mace and thrust myself toward him. I swing the heavy metal weapon at his face, and he lurches backward in surprise, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. He raises the sword in his hand to block my advances. I hurl my mace toward him with a roar, feeling the jolt of our weapons colliding in my shoulder. Logan parries the mace away, and attempts to swing his sword at me, but I twirl around to dodge it and come back around with my mace head smashing into his blade.

"Stop!" I hear Cyprian's voice cry. I glance over to see Leto's whip around Volt's ankles, and Volt tumbles to the ground with a grunt. Logan's sword clangs into my mace hilt, bringing me back to our battle. I smirk at him over our crossed weapons, then push him away. I stalk over to see him. His blue eyes are filled with determination. He won't go down without a fight. For a moment, they remind me of Callum.

I stop midaction. Callum… Callum who this bastard and his district partner killed.

Wait, where is Pagani?

I intuitively doge to the side just in time as Pagani's knife tries to stab into my back. I glance over to where Leto is standing over Volt, and Marlowe running after Cyprian. I'll have to deal with these two myself.

Logan's sword comes down to my head, and I roll aside. I jump to my feet, swinging my mace toward his stomach. He jumps back and trips, falling onto the ground. I turn just as Pagani lunges at me with her knife again. I can tell she's used one before. I remember her sticking her knife into Callum's side, and I'm filled with rage like I've never felt. I deliver a carefully timed blow with my mace as she lunges, hitting her hand and throwing her knife away. She screams in pain and drops to the ground, cradling her bloody hand close to her stomach.

"Pagani!" Logan yells. He's back on his feet, holding his sword tightly in his hand.

I hear a yell and look over to see that Volt has squirmed away from Leto's whip and is on his feet. Cyprian and Marlowe are fighting not too far away. Leto steps up to Volt and ignores his hands lifted in surrender, punching him straight in the face. He tumbles to the ground with a splatter of blood.

Logan yells as he charges at me. I swing my mace over my head, realizing that Pagani has gotten to her feet beside me, knife retrieved in her other hand. I crouch to avoid Logan's sword, putting him off balance, and swing my mace in Pagani's direction. It smashes into her head this time, sending her back to the grass.

"No!" Logan cries out. He staggers, trying to stay standing. I swing my mace with a smirk on my face, and he dodges the spiked ball with a grunt. He stares over at Pagani on the ground, then glances back at me as I approach him with a smile.

I hear Pagani moving behind me again. I roll my eyes, annoyed with her determination.

"Go, Logan!' she gurgles out, struggling to lift her head. I bring my mace down onto her head, feeling the satisfactory crunch of bone and brain.

"That's for Callum," I whisper to her. Her cannon still hasn't went off, so I raise my mace again and again until she's nothing but pulp in a uniform. Her cannon finally resounds around the arena, and I stand tall with pride. That is, until I look down and realize her blood is splattered onto my shoes and pants. Ugh.

I turn around to see that Logan has disappeared, perhaps taking his district partner's advice. Leto is still hunched over Volt, punching him repeatedly. Her face is drawn into a snarl, her eyes filled with rage. I saunter over to her with a grin, my mace dripping in gore.

"Volt!" Cyprian yells. Marlowe is still holding him off with her baton. The blade is too thin to withstand Cyprian's sword, but she's agile enough to dance around his swings.

Leto glances over to me as I approach. Volt is gasping for air, his face bloodied and eyes swollen shut. Leto gestures for a weapon, and I gladly toss her one of my axes from my belt. She holds it in hand and brings it down to his throat in a precise blow.

"No!" Cyprian screams. Volt's blood sprays into the air, covering Leto's face and chest, even reaching my own feet. Volt twitches pathetically for a moment before his cannon echoes Pagani's.

"Where's the guy," Leto says vehemently, standing with my axe tightly in hand.

I shrug. "He got away."

Leto huffs, and we both glance over to where Cyprian has managed to push Marlowe to the ground. He staggers toward Volt, tears running down his face. Volt is covered in blood, and Cyprian collapses beside him with a sob. "Volt…"

Leto snaps her whip, and it curls around Cyprian's neck. He grabs it with both hands, hsi eyes wide and terrified as he gapes up at his district partner.

"You dare betray District Two?" Leto hisses, her eyes wild. "Betray _me_? After all we've been through?"

Cyprian tries to shake his head, gasping as the whip tightens around his throat. "I… wasn't…"

"Shut up, traitor," Marlowe says, appearing behind Cyprian. She pierces through his throat with her baton, and I watch with equal disgust and thrill as he chokes on his own blood. His eyes slowly become unfocused, and he collapses onto Volt's body.

Leto uncurls her whips around him as he convulses, looking up at Marlowe sharply. "You should have let me finish him," she said darkly.

Marlowe huffs. "You got the other one," she gestures toward Volt's bruised body. Cyprian eventually stops moving, his hand reaching out for Volt's, fingers curling around his palm, just as his cannon resounds through the forest.

I glance around the clearing with a pleased smile. The grass is littered with bodies and blood. Marlowe whoops triumphantly, twirling around with joy. "We need to move the bodies away from the Cornucopia," Leto says. She's still staring at Cyprian. I can't make out what she's feeling, but she'll get over it. Just like Marlowe and I, she's left without her partner.

"Now it's just us girls," I chirp, swinging my mace around cheerfully.

"Help me move them," Leto says suddenly, standing and pulling Cyprian over to the edge of the forest. Marlowe and I grab the others and follow suit. The scent of iron permeates the air. I grimace at the blood on my hands after we're finished, leaning down to wipe them on the grass.

The three of us head back to the Cornucopia. None of us decide to sleep, instead staying awake at the mouth of the horn, sparring and eating and laughing. Leto doesn't do much of the latter, but her whip cracks through the air with ferocity.

* * *

 **Obituaries:**

 _14th) Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F_ \- Killed by Passion. Pagani was one of the tributes who had the most reasons to win. Her mother and brother will miss her immensely, as will her friend Mary. Pagani's unique and simple way of seeing things were always fun to write, and I'll miss her quite a lot.

 _13th) Volt Halvorrsson (18)- D5M-_ Killed by Leto. Volt was incredibly smart and charismatic, and definitely a victor that the Capitol would have loved. His manipulations of everyone in the arena eventually came back to bite him, and he paid the price, as did Cyprian and Pagani. Having a cunning villain in the arena was so much fun, especially his interactions with Cyprian.

 _12th) Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M-_ Killed by Marlowe. This was the hardest kill to go through with this chapter. I love Cyprian and his sweet but guarded nature, but unfortunately his lack of love in his life ended up killing him. At least he was able to experience love, even if it wasn't real on Volt's part. I'll really miss Cyprian. Writing his perspective on things was always fun, and his relationship with Leto was especially sweet.

 **Kill Stats:**

 _ **Most Kills**_ _:_

 _Passion Mavros (17)- D1F-_ three kills: Sparrow, Alder, and Pagani

 _ **Tied for Second-Most Kills:**_

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F-_ two kills: Rai and Volt

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F-_ two kills: Terra and Cyprian

 _Cyprian Clay (18)- D2M (dead)-_ two kills: Caiden and Jeremy

 _Faroud Pistris (18)- D4M (dead)-_ two kills: Dylan and Rylex

 _ **Third-Most Kills:**_

 _Pagani Chevy (16) (dead)- D6F-_ one kill: Callum.


	33. Day Seven: New Resolve

**Hey everyone! I hope you had a good week! Special thanks to MaxMan667 for betaing this chapter.**

* * *

 _Caillou Wight (17)- D3F_

I spent last night huddled on a tree limb with my new supplies clutched tightly to my chest. After hearing the three cannon shots go off last night, I feared something had been let loose in the arena. But despite my attempts to stay awake, I eventually drifted off, my dreams full of whispering voices floating through the forest, a faceless monster chasing after my scent, interspersed with flashes of Dylan's smiling face. I jolt awake the next morning to the sweet sound of birdsong, and I take a deep breath to steel myself.

The thoughts of Dylan are unexpected and nerve wracking. I've been trying to push his memory out of my mind ever since he died in the bloodbath. The images of his smile leaves me feeling uneasy. I pack up my things quickly and start my journey anew.

I've decided to head south, away from the Cornucopia. Since I keep running into people in the northern part of the woods, hopefully I'll have better luck in the opposite direction. I keep a careful eye on the trees around me, still on edge after last night. I can't believe I got so close to the Careers, even speaking to one, without running into any harm. I can't set aside the fear that they're still watching me, following me through the trees, waiting to strike.

I hold off from eating for as long as I can, but eventually my stomach is rumbling enough that someone could hear it, and I'm starting to feel a little faint. I find a sturdy log to sit on and take out my berries for a quick breakfast. I ignore my new canteen of water, no matter how thirsty I feel. The berries will be enough hydration until they run out. I chow down on a few berries until my fingers are stained anew with fresh juice. The juice I painted on myself yesterday is still staining my skin, slowly fading away.

I shuffle through my new supplies once more, still trying to convince myself that they're real. I nibble on a few crackers for some carbs, then carefully place each of my items in the pack and swing it over my shoulder. I continue through the forest, keeping a sharp eye out for any tributes or beasts. I hear the birds singing above me and listen to their calming song, trying to stay grounded. Despite how helpful these new supplies are, I can't help but wish that a weapon had been in the pack. Maybe a small knife or hatchet. Of course, my best option for a weapon would be a crossbow so I could keep my distance from my enemies, but I doubt I'll ever get my hands on one of those in the arena.

There's eleven of us left. I've seen Games where there were eleven tributes alive after the first day, and this is the seventh day. I imagine these Games will be long. The thought makes my hair stand up and my throat dry, dread settling in the pit of my stomach. The Games could just be beginning.

I accidentally step on a pile of crunchy leaves, and the sounds echoes off the trees. I take a deep breath, glancing around in anticipation, but it seems nothing heard me except for the birds. I tremble slightly as I start walking again. I'm not sure why I'm shaking. Maybe it's the knowledge that without a weapon, I won't be able to win the Games no matter how many other supplies I have. Or the realization that my time in the arena isn't coming to a close any time soon unless I die. Do I even really want to win, if it means having to live through days or weeks more of this hell?

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, leaning up to feel the sun on my eyelids. I can't give up. I have to keep going for my mother, for Sedrick, for my grandfather's memory. For District Three, who hasn't had a victor in nearly two decades.

 _Thimble Brier (16)- D8M_

"Raven?" I ask. I haven't heard him cough in a few minutes, and I'm worried he may have passed out. There's something ironic about the two of us being left to take care of each other, the boys who are barely able to walk or stay conscious. I don't even know if my voice is strong enough for him to hear.

"Raven?" I ask again, my throat aching.

"Yeah?" Suddenly Raven's voice echoes off of the rocks as he calls down to me.

"Where were you?" I ask weakly.

"Just getting some food," he says. He sounds less miserable than I would expect for two people in our situation. I told me he got a message from his mentor Johanna last night, which apparently has renewed his hope. I don't tell him that hope is pointless. All we can do is sit around and wait to die.

My chosen position for sitting and waiting to die is against the cliff face with rocks digging into my back, looking out over the sea as it sprays seawater and mist up at me. The distant water is serene, cool, calm. I hope that if Flux doesn't make it to the island, at least she'll find some peace out there, away from the death and destruction of the land. And if one of those cannon shots last night were her drowning, then she died peacefully. Not in a bloody massacre or slowly from dehydration, like me.

Not for the first time, I wonder if I should just jump into the violent whirlpool below me. It will surely either suck me deep underneath where I'll drown or bash me against the rocks until I die, but at least it will be over. I can't be sure, but I think I can feel my organs slowly and painfully shutting down inside me. I cough once, and it feels like my head will split apart.

"Are you alright down there?" Raven asks from above.

I nod before realizing he can't see me. "Yes," I say, then laugh at how ridiculous I sound. I'm not alright, not by a mile, but there's nothing we can do about it. The laughter causes a sharp pain in my chest, and I lean back with a gasp, trying to catch my breath.

I hear Raven chuckling above me. At least I'm with someone who doesn't turn up their nose at macabre humor. "I know, I know," he says. "But don't give up, Thimble."

What options do I have other than giving up? I sigh, watching as the distant waves pull water to and from the rocks. After some water, the thing I want most right now is a cigarette. Even just one drag. Being back at my little room waiting for another client at the Red would be better than this. I was a fool to ever wish to escape from my old life.

 _Marlowe Bahari (18)-D4F_

The bloodlust that has been simmering under my skin has been sated, if only slightly. I remember sticking my baton through Cyprian's neck as I practice my baton skills in the clearing around the Cornucopia, recalling how easily his blood had spurted from his throat as he convulsed with pain and panic. The way he'd collapsed onto Volt's body.

The blood from our victims is still staining the grass under my feet. The scent of iron from the bloodbath has long passed, but now it's been renewed, the sweet smell reaching my nose whenever I slice through the air. The bodies were taken last night while we watched from the Cornucopia. Now there's only three of us Careers left, with eight opponents, but I'm confident in my ability to win. Last night proved that the three of us are better fighters than the other tributes. We'll defeat them without a problem, maybe losing Leto or Passion along the way. And if I end up having to kill one of my allies, I know I'll come out on top.

I twirl around as I spin my baton, imagining a tribute charging at me with a greatsword. I slash into his chest, bending down quickly to slice open his kneecaps, then up again to slit his neck, leaving him to die on the grass. I stop and rub the sweat from my eyes, and the imaginary tribute disappears. I turn to peer over at my allies, sitting at the mouth of the Cornucopia. I saunter over to them with a hand on my hip, setting my baton down on a nearby crate.

"Are we going hunting or not?" I ask, looking at my nails. The dirt that's gotten underneath them would be unacceptable by Capitol standards, but it's sort of fun to be so dirty without expectation of making myself up. I can just be as I am, and be praised for it.

"We need to decide who's staying here to guard the Cornucopia if we're going to hunt," Leto says, sounding monotone. She's been acting strange since Cyprian died. I raise an eyebrow at her, but don't say anything. So Cyprian was a cowardly traitor, a shame to his district. He's gone now, and we need to look forward.

Passion flips her black hair over her shoulder, standing with a sigh. "I'm not staying here and sitting around. Marlowe should stay."

I growl, hand reaching for my baton instinctively. "In case you forgot, I'm the one who killed the Cyprian, _and_ I knew that he was betraying us. You only killed the little girl."

"He knocked you to the ground," Passion says without looking at me, rolling her eyes. "And _I_ have the most kills out of anyone here, in case you forgot." Her voice is so even, arrogant, that it makes me want to punch her in her perfect nose.

Leto stands with a grunt. "One of you has to stay because you can't be trusted together," she says, but there's barely a bite in her words. "We'll flip for it."

I open my mouth to protest, but Leto is already unpinning the silver star brooch from her outfit and positioning it in her hand. "Heads or tails, Passion?" she asks tiredly.

"Heads, always," Passion says, her eyes fixed on my face with a daring look.

Leto flips the pin quickly, covering it up with her hand before revealing the result too slowly. The pin is lying faceup in her sweaty palm. I growl again, stomping my foot slightly while Passion sighs victoriously. "I guess we'll be leaving, then. Have fun guarding the oranges." She points to a bag of oranges sticking out of a crate.

I open my mouth to retort, but at a sharp glance from Leto, I bite my tongue. I cross my arms as I watch the other two girls pick out their food and supplies for the journey. We're all tired from last night, so their hunt probably won't be very long anyway. If any tributes come past the Cornucopia, I'll be the one to finish them off. I wave my baton around idly as I watch Passion decide whether to bring an axe or mace. Eventually she goes with the axe, and Leto carefully tucks her whip into her belt.

She waves goodbye to me as they set out in a direction we haven't gone before, to the southeast. After they've left, I continue practicing with my baton as the heat bears down on me. I won't let Passion's taunts get to me. In fact, I hope we'll end up as the final two. That way I'll be able to gash her throat open and watch as the light leaves her eyes.

 _Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M_

The forest's edge is getting closer and closer as Luna and I walk along the beach. It feels like we're being welcomed home. Being out in the open on the coast for so long felt wrong, too vulnerable, too visible. The trees feel like Eleven, like the orchards that I spent so long climbing throughout my life, working and waiting and working some more.

Luna runs ahead with a gentle laugh as we reach the trees, disappearing inside. I follow her quickly, keeping my eyes fixated on her. "Don't run too far," I chide. "You don't want to fall off the cliff."

Luna giggles at me, running backward to look at me with a bright smile on her face. "Thorn Guerra worrying about me. Who knew that would ever happen?" she says lightly.

I huff and look away to hide my smile. "Don't get used to it," I say, rolling my eyes.

We continue our stroll through the forest, carefree, but I keep an eye out for any movement in the trees. We need to find a tall tree to stay in for a midday break, and then another tonight to sleep in. Moving through the trees is always the safest option in the Games when its available.

Then I hear a familiar sound."Wait a second," I say. "Do you hear that?"  
I feel like I'm having deja-vu. Luna blinks at me in confusion just like she did last time; but I can clearly hear the distant female voice singing directly to me. I can't make out any individual words, but I can tell it's for me. I feel my feet start to move in the direction of the voice.

"Thorn, what are you doing?" Luna asks quizzically.

"I… I think I hear my grandmother," I say dazedly. "Stay here, Luna."

"No!" She grabs my arm and pulls me away as I begin walking toward the sound again. "Not again, Thorn. It's a trap, you know it is." her voices off into a deep buzzing noise that is overlaid with the song.

"...what?" I shake my head. It's suddenly hard to focus. I blink rapidly, trying to retrieve my consciousness.

"Let's go!" Luna says urgently, pulling on my arm. I let her lead me away, for several minutes, until the song fades enough that I can focus again. I groan, rubbing my head with both hands.

"Are you alright?" Luna asks me gently.

"Yeah… let's keep going."

We move through the forest, probably making too much noise. I stumble over branches and roots until Luna finally makes me sit on a tree trunk. She hands me some water which I wave away at first, but she insists.

"We shouldn't waste our water," I grumble.

"It's not a waste if you need it," she says firmly.

I wonder if she was wrong earlier. She's the one worrying about me. We haven't eaten yet today, so Luna takes out some of our fish and hands me a half of one. We only have a few left, so we'll need to ration them well unless we want to return to the beach. We sit and munch on some fish, and I feel my energy slowly return with every bite. I shudder when I think about the song, the shrill and haunting notes that echoed in my mind. My grandmother's rosemary earring dangling from my ear tickles my neck.

"We need to stay away from this place," Luna says, glancing around warily. "It has to be a trap."

"Why couldn't you hear it?" I blurt out. "It was so loud… I could barely think…"

"Don't think about it," she says sharply. "It's a trap, understand?"  
I nod slowly, sighing. "You're right. Let's just keep moving."

 _Logan Wheeler (18)- D6M_

The sun beats down on me relentlessly. I cough as I keep moving, too afraid to stop. I had taken a quick break as the sun rose, when I had collapsed into the grass from exhaustion, but I had forced myself to start running again after a few minutes. I can't afford to stop. I don't know how long the Careers will follow me, if at all, but I can't stop. I can't.

It's the hottest part of the day, and I don't think I've ever been so exhausted, not even after the bloodbath. I don't have it in me to run; I haven't for hours; but I keep staggering forward with pained gasps. My legs finally give out underneath me and I crumble to the ground, letting my sword drop from my fingers. I try not to cry out in despair, burying my face into the grass. The smell of dirt and grass fills my nose. I can't let the Capitol see me like this. I can't let Natalie see me break like this. Not the Warriors; not my parents. Not District Six as a whole. I have to stay strong.

But how can I when Pagani is dead? My entire alliance is gone. I wanted to create an alliance to rival the Careers, and I failed. Now I'm the only one alive to see my failure.

I slowly roll over to face the sun. It shines through my closed eyelids, illuminating each of the veins in the thin skin. What is the point of continuing? I'm all alone, with no one to watch my back, no one to fight alongside, no one to talk to. I feel a sob rising in my throat, and I choke it down with desperation. I have to stay strong.

I stand with trepidation, gazing around me to make sure no one's seen me. The hills are barren as far as I can see, except for the sleeping dragon in the distance. I might as well head that direction, even though I won't be able to get any water from its stash. Especially not without Pagani or Volt. I start walking, feeling like my feet are lead. I have to stay strong.

I rifle through my remaining pack to see what supplies I left the Cornucopia with. The heavy coat that we got from the bloodbath is still there, along with the baggie of dried jerky and a canteen of water. Everything else is gone except for my sword. I stagger past the dragon, keeping a safe distance between us, staring at the water it's guarding with misery.

I continue walking until I'm farther out than I've ever been before. Volt always wanted to stay fairly close to the Cornucopia. Now I have some idea why, though I'm still confused about what happened. My heart constricts with both anger and sorrow as I think about Volt's cocky smile. What had he been planning? He had spoken to the boy from Two like he knew him. If he had an infiltration plan, he should have told me!

Deep down, I know why he didn't tell Pagani and I. He was going to kill us later, maybe even right afterward. How could I have been so foolish to see right past my own ally's betrayal? Did I forget the name of this game? We were only allies until someone decided it was time to kill each other. He was just the one who made that call.

It's only after I walk for another hour or so that I realize how hungry I am. I let out a deep sigh as I find a spot between two small hills to sit and eat. The hills give me some cover as I take out some jerky and tear off a piece. It might as well be cardboard; I can't taste it at all. I take a few sips of water as well, then sit with my head between my knees for a while. For a moment, I consider simply staying here, just lying in the grass and waiting for something, anything to happen; for the Careers to come and kill me… but I set that thought aside. I put away my food, grab my sword, and stand with resolve. I have to stay strong. I can do this for District Six, for all the people I left there. I can't give up.

 _Leto Larston (18)- D2F_

Passion spins her axe, the head expertly swinging under her arm and up again, the handle twirling in her fingers. She's definitely a skilled fighter and dancer. I underestimated her before the battle last night, but she impressed me. She handled two tributes at once, who had proven themselves worthy opponents before in the bloodbath. She hadn't managed to kill both of them, but the battle had been an overwhelming victory.

She notices me watching and shoots me a grin. "Jealous, Leto? Can you even use a blade? I've never seen you use anything but that dumb whip."

I feel the butt of the weapon banging against my hip with each step. "Of course I can use a sword, or an axe," I say evenly. "I like the whip because it's versatile. It's long range and short range."

"And you can trap people with it," Passion says dryly.

"That is also a bonus," I say, keeping my eyes on the horizon. The grass continues for what looks like miles, but I know the beach must sit at the edge of it. We haven't explored this direction yet, too busy chasing enemies and fighting among ourselves. Now it's time to face the tributes who are hiding out by the beach. I imagine there are lots of them, hoping for water and fish. My fingers itch for my whip just thinking about them. I imagine it wrapping around Volt's feet like it did last night, pulling him to the ground so I could beat him to a pulp.

I wish I had been the one to kill Cyprian. Killing Volt was easy, cathartic. But Cyprian was my partner, my friend. We grew up in the Academy together, trained together for years, and were chosen to volunteer alongside one another. And he had betrayed me nonetheless. I imagine his dull green eyes looking into mine, always careful, cautious, determined. How could Volt have corrupted him so totally into the whimpering, scared tribute that I saw Marlowe stick her baton through?

"Let's move faster," Passion complains. "I want to kill something."

I nod, and we pick up the pace. She finally seems more like herself than she has since the bloodbath. I wonder what she was thinking when she stopped Marlowe from killing that cow in the meadow. Whatever was wrong with her, it seems to be fixed. Even though Cyprian's gone, I still have powerful allies. I can still win this and bring glory to District Two in the way that so many other victors have in the past.

We continue through the clearing, the heat of the sun beating down on my neck and face. We stop for a moment to apply some more sunscreen to our exposed skin, then begin our journey again. After a few hours, the ocean becomes visible in the distance, bright blue and crystal clear. It looks like something out of a Capitol show. I've never seen the ocean, and I reckon Passion hasn't either, but neither of us let out any expressions of awe or shock. I'm glad we're able to keep our cool together. Another hour or so and we're closer to the ocean's edge, but still far enough away that it will take all night to reach it… and I'm tired. I haven't slept in days, and neither has Passion. The sun is nearly set, the entire sky a deep orange.

"Perhaps we should stop for the night," I say quietly.

Passion hums in assent. "Fine," she sighs. "I'll keep first watch. Get some sleep, because I won't be afraid to wake you up at midnight."

"I wouldn't expect you to," I say.

We sit together for a nice meal before I sleep, munching on some almonds and apples. As I'm laying out a blanket to sleep on, Passion suddenly grunts urgently. I look up just as she swallows her food and looks over to me, pointing to the horizon. "Look at that," she says, sounding mildly excited.

My eyes follow her finger. Out over the sea, illuminated by the setting sun, is land. An island, by the looks of it. I raise an eyebrow as I look back over to Passion. "I guess we have our destination for tomorrow."

 _Flux DuBois (14)- D8F_

It's been nearly a day since I set out on my voyage over the water. The raft is more difficult to control than I had anticipated; it's like the shore doesn't want me to leave it. I use my branches to row the best I can, but the sun above me and the salty spray of the water are distracting.

I lay on my back on the wooden raft, watching the birds fly above. I've noticed that they fly back and forth from the island and they shore. It gives me hope that the island won't be barren. If birds can get some use out of them, then surely I can as well. I hope so. After a day of sitting on my raft, I'm sunburnt beyond belief and overwhelmingly thirsty. I'm starting to think that I might not make it to the island in time before I die, and I'm more tired than I think I've ever been. After spending all night and day rowing, I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. I blearily watch the clouds pass above my head, listening to the water gently lapping against my raft. Quite frankly, it's a miracle that this thing even floats. I'm lucky that Raven paid attention in training.

If Thimble weren't stuck on that cliff, I'm sure he would help, too. He's smarter than I am. I knew that the moment we met. What am I going to do without him and Raven if they both die and leave me all alone. I shudder and push the thought away. There's no use in worrying. I should just live in the moment like I've always done.

The sun shines through my eyelids when I close my eyes, sighing loudly. _When will this nightmare be over? Wait, what am I talking about? The Games or this raft ride?_

I suddenly feel a slight bump underneath my head. I shoot upward, turning to see the raft has hit some rocks under the water. I'm closing in on the shore around the island, the rocks beating against the raft sharply. The island itself is still a quarter of a mile away, but the raft isn't going to survive the violent float inward. I sigh for a moment, gathering all of my supplies into my bag and swinging it over my shoulder. I slowly submerge myself into the water, wincing as the cold water sinks up to my waist. The water is deep enough that I can't get a good footing on the seafloor, but the rocks still knock into my knees at every opportunity. I'm going to be beat up by the time I reach the island. Ahead of me, the land itself is covered with lush trees, dark and sinister. I suddenly suspect that this might not have been such a good idea, but it's too late now.

I eventually try to hold the raft above my head to avoid banging it on the rocks, but the thing is too large and heavy. I finally just set it between two pointed rocks, hoping I'll be able to find it when it's time to leave. That is, if it doesn't float away. Whatever. I don't have many choices at this point.

I wade in through the water til my feet hit sand. I grimace as I emerge from the water, the cool night air chilling me to the bone. I pull my jacket, still thankfully mostly dry, tighter around me and continue walking. A large rock bangs against my knee and I curse out loud at the pain.

"Goddamn rocks," I seethe, feet moving slowly through the water. I eventually make it onto the shore, where I collapse in exhaustion. I groan as I pick myself up again, shooting the incoming tide a look of disgust before getting out of the way. I stumble over the sand, observing my surroundings. There's nothing but trees as far as I can see, dense and dark. I can hear insects and birds, which gives me hope. Where there's life, there's water.

I can barely keep my eyes open as I move closer to the trees, hoping to find a safe place to sleep. They seem more ominous and sinister the closer I get. As I approach, I realize there's something at the edge of the forest. Something that looks manmade. I cautiously go up to the structure, drinking in the sight of something other than trees and sand and water and rocks, which is all I've seen for a week. It's a small archway, just tall enough for a grown person to walk underneath, made of white marble that's covered in ivy. Four columns hold it up, and a vaguely humanoid figure stands in the middle. It's completely still and overgrown with vines, but I still set down my bag to retrieve my hatchet just in case. As I get closer, I see the person is a statue, whose face is cracked and covered with green leaves. Another statue has crumbled beside her so that only the legs remain.

The place leaves more questions than it answers, but it provides a bit of shelter. I'm too exhausted to explore more tonight, so I gather together a bed of leaves and ivy and plop down, sighing. In my fatigue, I barely see the distant light from within the heart of the forest, blinking warmly at me from between the trees, before I close my eyes.

 _Blossom Urakaka (D5)- D9F_

As the night settles over the arena, I look around my small paradise with pride. The cult would be proud of my ability to keep people out. Snares made of rope and deadfalls traps made from fallen pieces of stone are littered around the perimeter, carefully mapped and noted in my mind. If any tribute decides to explore the mountain like I did, they'll have a nasty surprise waiting for them. I just hope that there isn't a surprise waiting for me from the Gamemakers. I shoot another suspicious glance toward Snow's statue at the head of the building, then settle in for the night under a tree that has become my home base in these ruins.

I pick a juicy apple to eat and supplement it with some cherries from a different tree. The fresh water from the streams is delicious and cool. As I much down on my supper, I can't help but msis Capitol food. My stomach growls at the thought of a hearty stew and bread, complete with something sweet at the end. I always loved the sweet desserts they served us. If I win this thing, I'll gladly spend most of my days in the Capitol, feasting and relaxing. But if I don't, this is a nice substitute. It's better than living in the cult for the rest of my life.

The Panem national anthem suddenly starts playing, shaking me to my core, startling me like it does every evening. The Capitol insignia is visible through the broken columns and ceiling of the building. I settle in on my back, ready to see who died in the middle of the night last night. I could be sure since I had been sleeping, but I thought there were three cannon shots. Three less opponents between me and a life in the Capitol.

After the Capitol insignia dissolves, the face of the boy from Two appears. A Career! Good for whoever killed him. Hopefully the others will be Careers as well.

Sadly, they aren't. It's only the boy from Five and the girl from Six. I'm glad anyway. I saw the girl fight during training, and saw the boy's cunning interview. They were obstacles just as much as the Careers are. After the faces disappear, I roll over and start to settle in for a night of sleep, but then a familiar voice booms throughout the arena.

"Attention, tributes," Claudius Templesmith announces smugly. "You are hereby invited to a feast tomorrow at the Cornucopia. I'm sure you have noticed the various divine beasts throughout the arena. The death of each of these monsters will grant access to a valuable resource; but each beast has only one weakness. These weaknesses, in the form of weapons, tools, and other goodies, will be available for grabs tomorrow at midday. Come one, come all, to the feast of the gods."

His voice trails off into the silence of the arena, and the sky fades back into darkness littered with stars. A feast? I glance around my hideout. It doesn't seem like I have any reason to leave, let alone to get… a weapon? Something to kill a beast? Templesmith was too vague. I don't need any new supplies. I'll just let the other tributes battle it out and kill each other.

I roll onto my side with a sigh and drift off into sleep.

* * *

 **A bit of a calmer chapter after last week's chapters. The next one will be the feast! Let me know what you thought in a review. What are your predictions for the feast?**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


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